The Female Detective
by allonsysherlocklove
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is really a woman in disguise. She has spent her entire life carefully cultivating her disguise so she could be able to move through the world and do her work without being hassled. She's even managed to hide it from her best friend and flatmate, John Watson. That is, until a case goes wrong. Fem!lock, Female Sherlock, Genderswap, Johnlock Post-TRF. PLEASE R&R!
1. Prologue: Learning To Be A Man

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss in their current incarnation, and the estate of Arthur Conan Doyle in their original incarnation. The plot belongs to me.

Enjoy!

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I remember the first time that I was treated differently for being a girl. It was in nursery school. There was a group of boys playing with brick, and I joined them. They told me that boys play with brick and girls play with dolls. Of course, I was outraged by this as my intellect was superior to theirs. I protested, and the boys began to yell. The teacher came over and made me play with the girls. It was then that I realized that there were different expectations for girls than there were for boys. Those sorts of ridiculous expectations continued all through primary school, and, as a result, I became an outsider. Eventually, I stopped caring. The others did not appreciate my intellect, and I watched as they became more and more like the dull adults that they would eventually become.

By secondary school, they had all learned to stop approaching me. I was that strange girl who could tell you your whole life story with just one look. The one that was always in the chemistry or biology lab doing some sort of strange and unapproved experiment. Occasionally, I would have to deal with their taunts and their bullying, but I was able to stop them by making deductions about them. That was when the nicknames started. But it didn't matter. I knew I was superior to them.

By the end of year 9, I had already completed all the required curriculum through upper sixth, so my mother and Mycroft pulled some strings to have me admitted to university. I was much more in my element there. I was not required to participate in tedious social activities. I was still questioned when I refused to socialize, but they didn't press me nearly as hard as they did in primary and secondary school. It was then that I discovered dressing in men's clothing.

It was for a theatre class that I was required to take. Rather surprisingly, I enjoyed it. It allowed me to pick up skills that I later found useful, first when I lived on the streets, and later in my career as a consulting detective. I learned how to imitate accents, make myself appear older or younger, make myself unnoticeable, mimic behaviors, and even how to change my gender. I absorbed all of this information and applied it myself outside of class. It was thrilling the first time I successfully passed as male by meticulously changing my stance, stride, and voice. Being a male was much easier. I was able to pass unnoticed. People questioned my habits less. I was able to do things that a female would be hassled for. This was when I decided to present myself as a man full-time.

As a student, I was excelling, as usual. With no one to distract me, I completed degrees in biology and chemistry in less than two years. I was on to post-graduate work in both before I was 18. That was when I met Victor Trevor. I was walking past his flat when his dog ran out and bit me. He apologised profusely, and somehow we became friends. He found out, quite by accident, that I was a woman, and he found my disguise interesting. Eventually, we became intimate. Not long after that, he introduced me to cocaine. At that point, I rarely used, my studies being an adequate distraction. Things were comfortable until Victor and I grew bored with each other, and eventually he broke off our relationship. We weren't boyfriend and girlfriend precisely; we were just friends who had sex with each other. I took it in stride, and finished my post-graduate degrees by the time I was 20.

Finding a job turned out to be much more difficult than I had anticipated. Most employers couldn't stand me. When I did manage to find a job, I usually quit after a short period. The work was dull and tedious, and I could feel my brain rotting. I began using cocaine more regularly, trying to stave off the boredom. Over the next five years, Mycroft regularly tried to stage interventions for me, having long ago accepted my preference to dress as a man. Eventually, he wrote me off. He was too busy becoming a rising star in the British government, and a sibling like me would damage his image. It was a difficult time. I had been cut off from family money, so I spent my time doing odd jobs. Lack of funds resulted in periods of homeless, but, for the most part, this didn't really bother me. As a man, I was left alone, so I was not worried about my safety. The cold and hunger did not bother me; I had long ago learned to ignore physical discomfort. Breast-binding, after all, is not a comfortable process.

The next five years consisted mostly of using cocaine and trying to find money to buy cocaine. Things had spiraled out of control. Work was tedious, and I was a slave to the cocaine. I was beginning to lose any hope of being content in life, and I was nearly ready to end my life until one night I happened to be keeping warm in some doorway near a crime scene. The detective inspector had incorrectly called a murder a suicide. I mentioned this to the inspector who eyed me suspiciously.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"The bullet wound is on the right side of the man's head. He's obviously left-handed. He also has defensive wounds on his forearms. I've sure you've missed them because you are expecting them to be on his hands. If you look toward the other end of the crime scene, I'm sure you'll find the killer's blood as well a footprint. Also, this is not the type of man to commit suicide. Look at his left hand. He's newly married, less than six months. Tell me, would you really commit suicide if you were a newlywed?" The thrill I felt at my deductions caught me by surprise. It had been a long time since I had done anything like this. It was better than any high I had gotten from cocaine.

He gaped at me. "How…? You seem to know an awful lot about this."

"Ah, yes, arrest me because you think I did it. I think you'll find that I'm too tall. The entry wound was inflicted by someone around 5'7". I think I'm a little tall to fit that description."

He sent an officer over to confirm what I had said. When he returned, he whispered what I already knew was a confirmation in the detective inspector's ear. He eyed me closely, taking in my appearance. I could tell that he saw a young man, high on cocaine who was shivering violently and far too thin. He was an experienced officer, and not as much as an idiot as most people.

"Come on," he said gruffly, grabbing my forearm and pulling me into a nearby coffee shop. He steered me towards a table and bought two coffees and a pastry. He set the pastry and one of the coffees in front of me and said, "Eat."

I picked at the pastry and ate a little. He sipped his coffee as he watched me. I finished part of the pastry and started drinking the coffee when he spoke again.

"You're smart. Why on earth are you not working for some big-shot company or something?"

"Dull."

"Dull?" he asked unbelievingly.

"Yes. Dull. Boring. Tedious. Obvious. Pick whichever you'd like." I went back to drinking my coffee.

"Yeah, well, with brains like that you could be doing whatever you want. Why do cocaine? It's just fucking you up."

"Is this some clever way to try to get me to admit to you that I've used some illegal substance? It's not going to work, Detective Inspector…?"

"Lestrade. Gregory Lestrade."

"Lestrade. I'm more clever than that."

He grunted as he picked up his coffee and finished it off. He pulled a pad of paper out of his pocket and wrote a number down. "Look, call me if you need some help, okay?" I took the number and pocketed it as he stood up. "Don't waste a brain like yours, son. You could be great." Without another word, he stood up and walked out of the shop.

I happened across D.I. Lestrade again accidentally. I was between hits of cocaine; I hadn't been able to afford another score for a few days. It was another crime scene, and he saw me passing by. He called me over. I walked over to where he was standing next to the police tape, trying to hide the tremors in my hands. "Hey, I didn't get your name last time," he said.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, we could use your help here, assuming you're sober." He looked at me closely. I was displaying obvious signs of withdrawal.

"Yes, I am," I snapped. He lifted the crime scene tape, and I walked onto the crime scene. The thrill was even better this time. I quickly deduced what had happened and relayed the information to Lestrade. I was ducking under the police tape to leave when he stopped me.

"Look, I think we could work something out."

"Like?" I asked.

"You like doing this. I can tell." I nodded. "If you can stay sober, I can offer you occasional cases."

"And why would you do that?" I asked suspiciously.

"Because we could really use some help. And I think you need the proper incentive to quit the drugs. Look, just think about it."

I went over the potential issues that this could raise, but I wanted that high I got from solving mysteries. It outweighed anything else. "You have a deal, Detective Inspector." I shook the hand he offered, and walked away, trying to subdue the urge to find cocaine.

That was the beginning of my career as a consulting detective. It was a long, difficult process. Lestrade withheld cases from me on more than one occasion when he caught me using, but eventually I was able to quit completely. Mycroft gave me access to my family funds again, and I was able to do work that I enjoyed. I had finally found my niche, and I didn't think things would get much better.

Then I met Captain John Watson, M.D.


	2. Chapter 1: Returning Home

It had been so long since I'd been in London, nearly two years since I'd laid my eyes on 221B Baker St. As I stepped out of the taxi, a feeling of peace settled over me. I was finally home.

I glanced at the doorknob and smiled as I pulled out my old key. They hadn't changed the locks. I quietly opened the door, listening for any signs of Mrs. Hudson or John. There was no sound from Mrs. Hudson's door, so she must be out as she always had the telly on when she was at home. It was Monday. She always went to the shops on Monday. I smiled fondly. People were so predictable, and she wasn't any exception.

I didn't hear anything upstairs either, but that didn't mean much. John was fairly quiet when he was on his own. I climbed the stairs quietly, listening for any sign of John. I quietly unlocked the door and slipped into the flat. This was the best way to let John know that I was alive. I didn't want to spring it on him in some public place. The privacy of our flat was the best. I looked around the living room. It looked almost exactly the same as I had left it. Mycroft said that John hadn't been doing well, but it was unlike John to leave things like this. The flat had been a mess when we were arrested.

I walked into the kitchen and saw my science equipment still on the table. I was starting to become slightly panicked. This was not like John at all. I looked around the flat, looking for anything that would tell me about John's mental state. There were signs that my chair had been sat in recently while John's had a fine layer of dust on it. My blue dressing gown was also draped across the back of my chair. I knew for a fact that I had left it hanging on the back of my bedroom door. John was obviously clinging to anything that was mine. This was not going to be easy. I listened carefully and heard light snoring from the direction of my bedroom. Apparently he was sleeping my bed as well.

I swiftly crossed the flat and pushed my bedroom door open. John was curled up on my bed, his face buried in my pillows. A feeling that I couldn't explain came across me. Something about John sleeping in my bed piqued my interest. I decided to wake John up to distract myself from these disturbing emotions. I crossed to the bed and sat down lightly on the edge. The sight of John sleeping was entrancing. I had missed him so much. I hadn't realized how much I actually needed him in my life until I was forced to leave him behind. Life had been empty while I was away, almost like it had been when I was still using cocaine.

John started shifting in his sleep, and I could tell by his breathing pattern that he was waking up. I sat still, trying not to disturb him. After a couple moments, he opened his eyes. He hadn't noticed me. John scrunched his eyes, and his breathing grew harsh. He appeared to be holding back tears. A feeling of guilt washed over me. I couldn't stand it anymore.

"John," I said softly, my tone a little too high. I would have to get used to using a lower tone again. He jumped and looked at me.

"Sher-Sherlock?" he asked uncertainly. He reached out a hand, as if to touch me, but then quickly pulled it back. "No, it can't be you. I'm hallucinating. I've finally lost it."

"John, I am not a hallucination," I said indignantly.

John raised his eyebrows. "Wow, I've done a good job. I've even gotten the voice right."

"John! I am real, and I am alive." I reached out and grabbed his wrist. "You wouldn't be able to feel that if I were a hallucination."

"Oh my god," he said slowly. "You're really alive?" He looked like he was in a trance.

"Obvious." His eyes moved down to my lips for a moment before scanning my face for any sign of deceit.

John jumped suddenly. "You're alive, you git!" He threw himself at me and began punching any part of me that he could reach. He wasn't punching hard, but he definitely got his point across.

"You. Git. You just waltz in after being dead for two years. I cannot believe you, you bastard!"

"John. John, stop!" His punches were starting to hurt.

John got off me and stormed out of the room. I jumped up and followed him. He was in the kitchen preparing tea.

"John," I said tentatively.

He turned quickly to face me. "No, Sherlock. You're going to listen to me right now. I am going to make tea, and you are going to sit down. Then we will talk about this." He was using his captain's voice. It was always best to obey him when he did; it meant that he was serious.

I quietly walked over and sat down in my chair. John brought me over a cup of tea and sat down in his chair. I sipped my tea; exactly the way I like it.

"Now, you're going to explain to me exactly what happened and why you put me through two years of hell."

I cleared my throat. I couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Well, I jumped because Moriarty threatened to have you killed if I didn't. He had a sniper there. I had to die to protect you."

John was quiet for a moment. "And Moriarty?" he asked.

"Dead. He killed himself because he knew I'd be able to stop him as long as he was alive."

John sat quietly, and I didn't interrupt him. After a few minutes of silence, I stood up and started walking to my room..

"Sherlock," John said. I paused.

"If you ever do that to me again, I will kill you myself." There was a genuine threat in his voice. I shivered at the his dangerous tone.

"I won't."

* * *

The next few months were strained. John was having difficulty adjusting to me being around again. I made sure to be as visible as possible. I quickly slipped back into my old routines. I was doing my experiments again and consulting for Lestrade, and I was enjoying it immensely.

Legally, coming back from the dead was easy. Mycroft handled it to appease his guilty conscience. He had been alerted soon after I had disappeared that I was still alive. He provided me with the things that I needed while I hunted down Moriarty's network. He owed me after his stunt with Moriarty.

It was much harder coming back to life socially. I had to deal with emotional outbursts, excessive hugging, and threats of violence from everyone who knew John and me. Poor Mrs. Hudson nearly fainted when we told her, but she recovered quickly and made me my favorite meal. Telling Lestrade was amusing however. He stared at me with his mouth gaping open for nearly five minutes. Donovan and Anderson were amusing at first, but they quickly became tedious and dull, as usual. John was furious when he found out Molly already knew. I had to deal with him threatening me again, and he ignored me for nearly a whole day.

Eventually things settled back to our normal routine. I was able to slip out of my male disguise more often because John was working several shifts at an A&E. It was a relief to be able to do so. I had spent long periods of time abroad dressed as a female, so the male disguise had become uncomfortable again. Still, it was worth it to be home again, solving cases with John.


	3. Chapter 2: A Close Call

Wow! 350 views in 24 hours. I have to admit, this turned out to be much more successful than I thought it would be. For all you lovelies who have taken a look, here is chapter 2, just for you. Please read and review!

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I listened as John left the flat. Fortunately, he hadn't noticed that I had dismantled his phone. He was running late, so he wouldn't return to confront me about it before work. I sprinted into my room and removed the bandages that were binding my breasts. I was really getting tired of binding them all the time. I slipped on a baggy cotton shirt and my blue dressing gown before I went back into the living room and reclined on the couch in my thinking pose.

I had been back at Baker St. for nearly six months, and things had nearly gone back to normal. John and I solved cases, I did experiments, and John nagged me about how much I ate and slept. But there was still tension between us. Part of it was because John was still deciding whether or not to trust me again, but there was still something else. Every so often I'd catch him staring at me. It was somewhat disconcerting, and John would always act like it never happened. It was puzzling, and I did not like it at all.

I found myself watching John more often as well. After being away for so long, it was nice to be able to just look at him. I spent long periods trying to deduce what had happened while I was gone. He seemed to have aged far more than he should have. He had more grey hairs, and the lines around his eyes had deepened. To the unobservant eye, there wasn't much difference, but I knew knew John best, and I was more observant than most.

I was just getting ready to enter my mind palace to go over the issue when I heard footsteps on the stairs. I paused for a moment, to see if I could determine whose they were. They were John's. I jumped up and strode over to my violin, hastily picking it up. I looked down to make sure that my shirt was loose enough that John wouldn't notice anything out of place when the door opened. I quickly played some dissonant notes to distract him.

"Sherlock!" John called out over the violin. I stopped and turned my head to look at him without turning the rest of my body. I quickly scanned his body to check for signs as to why he was home. His clothes were still fresh and he looked well, so he wasn't ill. He smelled faintly of the disinfectant they used at the A&E, but not too strongly, so he had entered but hadn't stayed long.

"Ah, John. I see that your shift was cancelled." I turned my head back and started playing the violin again.

"Yeah. Have you seen my phone? They tried to call me, but it wasn't in my coat."

"It's on the table." As I listened to John cross to the kitchen, I tried to calculate a way to get back to my room without exposing my front to John.

"Sherlock," John sighed. He must have seen his phone. "Would you please leave my things alone?" Dull. I ignored him and continued to play.

John went back into the kitchen and put on the kettle. If he went after the biscuits on the third shelf, I'd be able to slip into my room, but he'd also notice the action.

"Tea?" John asked. If I refused, he'd be suspicious.

"Yes." Maybe if I pretended to go to the toilet I'd be able to slip away. I glanced at John's reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. He was staring at me again. The man was refusing to cooperate. I continued to play the violin and pretend not to notice him. The kettle whistled, and he had turned his back to make tea. I wasn't going to be able to slip past him. The man was like a tea-making machine, quick and efficient. John brought my tea over and set it on the table next to me. Fortunately, my dressing gown was hanging so that any view of my chest was obscured.

John walked over to his chair and sat down. Maybe if I draped my dressing gown just right, I would be able to avoid being noticed. I set my violin down, wrapped my dressing gown loosely around myself, and carried my tea over to the kitchen table. John was on his laptop, engrossed in his blog, so I was able to slip past him without being noticed.

I quickly finished off my tea and slipped into my room, silently cursing my stupidity. It was a risk that I knew I shouldn't have taken. Making sure my door was locked, I pulled off my shirt and quickly began to bind my breasts again. I was about to put the shirt back on when my phone went off.

Locked room murder case. Looks like those serial killings. Will you come? -GL

After sending off a quick reply, I called, "John, case!" I heard him groan from the other room, but I ignored him. I pulled out my suit with a black button-up shirt and dressed quickly. John was just pulling his shoes on again when I came out of my room.

"Hurry, John!" I cried as I sprinted past his chair and pulled my coat on. Lestrade texted me back with the address as I was putting my scarf on. This one looked like it was going to be fun.


	4. Chapter 3: The Cat's Out Of The Bag Now

WOW! Over 800 views in three days. I'm shocked. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, followed, and favorited this story. Enjoy!

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I jumped out of the cab and walked swiftly to the police tape where Donovan was monitoring the perimeter.

"What the matter, Freak? Can't wait for your sidekick?" she taunted.

I realized with a slight twinge of guilt that I left John with the fare again. "I don't see how it's any of your business, Donovan. He's nearly caught up anyway, thanks to your charming personality." I lifted the police tape as John approached and followed him underneath it.

The body was in the top story of an apartment complex. As we approached the building, I looked around the entrance to see if there were any unusual footprints. There wasn't much, but I noticed a length of frayed neon-colored nylon rope as well as a large carabiner. I pocketed them before I headed up to the top.

Lestrade was standing outside the door. "Victim was found inside the room with the door locked. No sign of anyone forcing the door. I can give you five minutes." John and I entered the room. I quickly scanned the body. Young, caucasian, female victim. Art student. Killed by strangulation. Grey hair and dark blue polyester threads near the body.

"John, if you will." John examined the body while I looked around the room. There was no way for anyone to get in or out of the room except the door or the window. I pushed the window open and looked around. There was a bit of mud on the window sill. I looked up and caught sight of a hook. Brilliant!

I pulled my head in the building as John started speaking. "Young female. Died of asphyxiation due to strangulation based on the marks on her neck. No sign of defensive wounds. She's been dead about 12 hours."

"Lestrade, you're looking for a short older man who is skilled at rock climbing and rappelling. He was probably wearing a maintenance uniform to gain access to the roof. Oh, I love serial killers!"

"Sherlock," Lestrade sighed. "I need to know how you got this."

I sighed deeply as I pulled the rope and carabiner out of my pocket and handed them over. "Look at the window sill. There's mud there. How'd that happen on the top floor? The killer rappelled off the room to get into the room. This is gear for rappelling. The rope also matches the pattern on her neck. If you look at the roof, there's a hook that he used. The serial killer's been targeting young, female art students. If you look closely at her fingers, you'll see traces of oil paint. Also, there is a grey hair near the body. That suggests age. There are also polyester threads, the type that you see in standard, maintenance uniforms. The angle of the bruising suggests that the man was short."

"Okay, we'll follow it," Lestrade said.

"Come on, John," I said as I strode out of the room.

John jogged to keep up with me as I rushed down the stairs. "Where are we going, Sherlock?"

I exited the building and crossed the police line to hail a taxi. "Sporting goods shops. I've said before, I love serial killers. You just have to wait for them to make a mistake." I climbed into the cab.

"What mistake?"

"The rope, John. It was frayed. It had been damaged. He'll have to replace it."

"And he'll have to go to a sporting goods shop to do that."

"Very good, John."

* * *

We spent the next few hours going from shop to shop. None of them had seen a man matching our description.

"Last one, John. Then we can go get you dinner." The shop was a small specialty store. There was no one at the counter, so John and I began browsing. I heard someone enter from the back and looked up to see the clerk enter. He matched the description exactly. I texted Lestrade with the address before I walked over to where John was looking at rope.

"So, I think this one's probably best for what we want to do." A look of confusion flashed across John's face, but he quickly masked it.

"Um. No, I really think this one is better. It's thicker, and it says it's less likely to fray." I was watching the clerk out of the corner of my eye. He seemed to have stopped paying attention to us.

"It's the clerk," I said in an even tone, trying to avoid drawing attention to us.

"You sure?" John asked, matching my tone.

"Yes."

We walked over to the front counter carrying the ropes with us. "Um, hi," I said slipping into a friendly persona. "We were looking for rope to use for rappelling, and we were wondering which one is better."

The man began his sales pitch while John, seemingly aimless, was slowly moving to a better position. The man was starting to work himself into a froth over the pros and cons of the varieties we had chosen when John pulled his gun and said, "Don't move."

The man looked up and panicked at the sight of the gun. He grabbed the ropes and threw them at John before he ran into the back. I jumped over the counter and followed closely behind. I heard John behind me, untangling himself from the ropes so he could follow as well.

I followed the man out the back door and down the alleyway. He dodged the rubbish in the alley with ease, and I followed suit. He was fast, but I had longer legs. I was catching up to him quickly. I overtook him at the mouth of the alley where I launched myself at him. He went tumbling. We both scrambled to our feet, and I turned my head at the sound of sirens in the background. I turned back to the man who had pulled a knife. He lunged at my neck, but I was able to move out of the reach of the blade just in time. He tried for my neck again, and I felt a sharp sting as the knife sliced across my collarbone and down my chest where my shirt was parted. I jerked away from him with a hiss of pain just as John tackled him to the ground and quickly subdued him.

"You okay?" John asked. I quickly pulled my coat over my chest where blood was beginning to seep through my shirt. It wasn't too serious, but it would need stitches. It felt like he had managed to slice across the top of my breast. I'd have to figure out how to do it myself.

"Yes. I'm fine." I steeled myself to deal with the pain until we could get back to Baker St. Fortunately, my dark shirt hid the blood stains, so John shouldn't notice anything.

Lestrade was hurrying down the alleyway with a couple of officers. He quickly put handcuffs on the man and turned him over to another officer.

"I swear, Sherlock," he said, "you need to stop doing this. Let us do our jobs."

I gritted my teeth. This was getting painful. I was having to work hard to keep my voice both deep and steady. "If I did that, criminals would be walking free all over London."

Lestrade grunted. "I'm going to need a statement."

"Tomorrow. We need to get back to Baker St." John looked at me, concerned, but thankfully didn't say anything. We walked back to the main road where John hailed a taxi. The pain was getting worse. I glanced under my coat for a moment. The bleeding seemed to be slowing down. I just had to get back to Baker St. without John noticing.

The taxi ride was long and tortuous. I had to bite my tongue to keep from moaning in pain when I shifted. I used to be so much better at ignoring my body's complaints. I was getting soft. We climbed out of the taxi, and John paid. We were almost up the stairs when John tripped. He threw his hand out to catch himself, and it landed right on my injured shoulder. I hissed in pain as I pulled myself away from John and hurried up the stairs.

"Sherlock, what's wrong.?"

"Nothing, John." My voice was relatively high-pitched. I was having a hard time keeping the right tone. I pushed my way into the flat and was halfway to my room when John grabbed my wrist and stopped me.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" My coat slipped as I tried to pull away from him, and he saw the blood stain on my shirt. "Jesus, Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me?"

I tried to pull away, but he held onto my wrist. "It's fine, John," I hissed.

"No, it's bloody well not fine. You're bleeding, Sherlock. We should go to the hospital."

"No!" I was panicked now. My voice was far too high. I was starting to feel faint, but I had to keep John from finding out.

"At least let me look at it, Sherlock. It could be serious. You're looking really pale." I tried to pull away from him again, but he dragged me over to the couch and made me sit down. "Put your head down between your knees. I'll be right back with the first aid kit."

I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop John. I resigned myself to the fact that very shortly John would know I was a woman. John was rummaging through the cabinets in the kitchen. I was really starting to get lightheaded when John came back through with his medical kit.

"John, I really need to tell you something." God, the man was an idiot. How could he not tell by my voice.

"Shush, Sherlock. You'll be fine."

"No, John, listen." Dark spots were starting to swim in my vision. I saw John's mouth moving, but I didn't hear anything. Suddenly, everything faded into darkness.

* * *

A/N: MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I'm so evil for leaving you a cliffhanger, but there you have it. Next chapter should be up in the next couple of days!


	5. Chapter 4: The Truth

Apparently, because I love you all, I'm posting the next chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed. But it is true. I love all my readers. Enjoy!

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The first thing I noticed was cool air across my breasts and stomach. Why weren't my breasts bound? I was trying to figure out what had happened when I felt a stinging sensation in my shoulder. I opened my eyes and saw John's face above me looking puzzled and slightly red. Everything came rushing back to me. John knew. I had to get away. I sat up quickly.

John planted his hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down. "No, you don't."

"John, let me go!"

"Um, no, Sherlock. This is a nasty cut, and I'm going to have to sew it up. Then we're going to have to talk about um...this. And you can stop with the deep voice."

I threw an arm across my chest and sulked while John applied antiseptic to the wound. He pulled out a syringe and injected a local anesthetic.

"So, you're a, um, female…" John started.

"Obvious." I stated.

"Yeah, but I've lived with you for more than two years. How did I not see it? I'm a doctor for god's sake!" he pulled out a needle and thread.

"You saw exactly what you expected to see." John threaded the needle and started stitching the wound.

"But still, I'm your best friend. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's a disguise that I'm used to wearing. It was irrelevant."

"Your gender is irrelevant?" John spluttered.

"It's more than irrelevant. It's a burden, a disruption. Imagine how different my work would be if those idiots at Scotland Yard knew I was a woman."

"What do you mean? There are plenty of women who work at Scotland Yard."

"Yes, and most of them are secretaries, or they have to fight twice as hard for their promotions. Look at Donovan. How long has she been a sergeant? People still treat women differently, John. If they knew I was a woman, they'd automatically discredit everything I say using flimsy, ridiculous excuses that no one would question. I can do things much more easily as a man. People don't question me as much."

John was quiet as he finished the stitched. "There. Finished." He stood up and walked into the kitchen. "Go get dressed, without binding. I'll make some tea." As I walked past the kitchen, I noticed that his ears and down the back of his neck were bright red. I smiled to myself as I walked into my room and slipped on the shirt I was wearing earlier.

I dropped into my chair as John was finishing up our tea. I knew he was going to question me, so I prepared myself. John handed me my tea and sat down in his chair, not quite meeting my eyes.

"So, you have questions. Ask." I sipped my tea and watched him try to decide what question to ask first.

"So, um, how long have you been dressing as a man?" he finally asked.

"More than half my life."

John spluttered. "That long?"

"Yes, John." I sighed. He was being tedious. "Next question?"

"Um, okay. Who else knows?"

"Mycroft, obviously. Mummy, though she hardly notices anything anymore. You."

"No one else knows?"

"I suspect Moriarty knew. I couldn't be sure though. It never came up."

"Fucking Moriarty knew?"

"It was only a hunch, John. We'll never know now."

"Why doesn't anyone at Scotland Yard know?"

"I already told you. They'd automatically discount everything I say. Donovan's been a sergeant for seven years. If she was a man, she'd have been promoted ages ago. And look at Anderson. He's probably one of the worst misogynists I've ever had the misfortune to come across; imagine dealing with him if he knew."

John snorted. "Yeah, you have a point there."

"So, yes, being a man for all intents and purposes make the work easier to accomplish."

"I still don't get how you managed to hide it. I mean...um, nevermind…" he trailed off, his face blooming bright red.

"Are you referring to the size of my breasts? I assure you, they are quite average. Stop being predictable. People see what they expect to see."

"But Sherlock, how can you stand it? Having to pretend to be someone you're not?"

"I'm used to it, John. It's a part of who I am now. And anyway, putting a label on my gender has never really appealed to me. I don't like to be sorted into boxes. It distracts from the data."

John sighed. "I don't get you, Sherlock, and I don't know that I ever will."

"Good."

He was silent for a few moments. I sipped my tea, watching him closely. "By the way," he asked suddenly, "is your name actually Sherlock?"

I giggled a little at this. "Yes, it is. My parents had a gift for giving terrible names."

"I wouldn't say terrible. Unique. It kind of suits you." John blushed a little as he took a sip of his tea.

"I think you're the first person to say that."

"Really?" he asked, looking up. "What did they normally say?"

"They mostly teased me." I tried not to sound hurt as I said this. "It doesn't really matter though."

John sat forward. "Yeah, it does. It hurt your feelings."

"It really doesn't matter anymore. It was ages ago. They were idiots." John grunted at this. I groaned as I shifted in my seat. The anesthetic was beginning to wear off.

"Starting to hurt?" John asked as he got up and collected our cups.

"A little."

"I'll get you some paracetamol." He went into the kitchen and came back with two pills and a glass of water. "Here you go." I took the pills and drank the whole glass of water.

"Takeout?" John asked as he returned to the kitchen.

"Indian. And John?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone."

"Of course not, Sherlock."


	6. Chapter 5: The Statement

A/N: WOW! Over 1500 views between here and AO3. I'm shocked. To everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story, THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH. I never thought this story would be as popular as it is.

Please enjoy!

* * *

John insisted that I eat all my take-out, fussing about nutrition and recovery times and infections. I ignored him and forced myself to finish the plate of food John had forced on me before I wandered off to bed. I was getting tired of John's hovering. He needed time to process my gender, and my getting frustrated wasn't going to help.

Surprisingly, I slept the entire night. I was woken early the next morning by a text from Lestrade reminding me to come in around ten to give my statement. I sighed as I got out of bed, my stitches tugging. I went into the kitchen to check on some experiments that were in delicate stages before I started writing up the paper for my experiment on toenail decomposition rates.

I was engrossed in my work when John came sleepily into the kitchen and put the kettle on. It was the first thing he did every morning; his military training always kicked in when he was sleepy. I focused on my paper again, and John placed a cup of tea next to my elbow. I absentmindedly sipped at it while I continued to write.

"Sherlock," John said.

"Hm?" I said, not looking up from my work.

"Are you paying attention?"

I sighed and looked up at him. "Yes, John? What did you need?"

"No need to be snarky," he muttered.

I arched an eyebrow at him, and he cleared his throat. "Um, Lestrade texted. He wanted me to remind you that you had to come in to give a statement."

"Yes, I am aware." I looked back down at my work. I was nearing the end, only a paragraph left.

"Sherlock."

"Yes, John?" I snapped.

"It's just, um, I need to check on your stitches."

I sighed again. "Let me finish this first." I saw John nod slightly before he went upstairs. He came back down, dressed, just as I was finishing. He retrieved the first aid kit from the table where he left it last night and gestured for me to sit in the chair on the other side of the table. I sighed as I stood up. I sat in the chair and removed my shirt. John cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably as he turned to put gloves on.

"Really, John, there's no need to be like that. They're just breasts. You're a doctor for God's sake."

"It's just a bit awkward, okay? How's it feeling?"

"It still hurts, but not as badly as yesterday." He removed the dressing and probed the wound with his gloved fingertip gently.

"No sign of infection. It should be fine as long as the dressings are changed regularly and you don't bind your breasts." He took another dressing and placed it over the wound. I slipped my shirt back on.

"John, I have to go to Scotland Yard. I can't go as a female."

"Well, you're going to have to figure something else out. You can't put pressure on those stitches."

"What do you suggest? I can't wear a suit. Anything else will look suspicious."

"What if you just wore a suit and kept your coat on over it?"

"It has blood stains on it. I need to send it out to be cleaned."

John was quiet for a few moments before he spoke up. "What if we had him come here and you just stayed in you dressing gown? We could probably wrap them lightly, for a short time, without causing damage. Will that work?"

I huffed a sigh. "I suppose it will have to do. You'll have to text Lestrade though. He won't come here if I ask him to, not after last time."

John sighed and scrunched his nose, obviously remembering the experiment that had emitted a noxious smell just as Lestrade had entered the flat. He pulled his phone out and asked, "What do you want me to tell him?"

"Just tell him I was mildly injured and that you don't want me to leave the flat. Make it sound like you're being over-protective."

John sent off the text and put the phone back in his pocket. "Okay. You need to get ready for Lestrade to come over. Make sure you don't bind your breasts too tightly, okay? I want to check it when you're done. And try to watch out for the dressing."

I went into my room and wound the bandage around my chest. It pulled at the stitches as I compressed my breasts, but if I didn't bind them tightly enough, then there would be no doubt as to my gender. There was a knock on the door just as I fastened the end of the bandage.

"Sherlock?" John asked through the door. "You finished?"

I went over and pulled the door open, and John entered. "Acceptable?" I asked.

John came over and slipped a finger under the bandage on my back and tugging lightly. A chill ran down my spine at the contact. "It's too tight." I turned to face him, and he gestured to the top of the dressing that had folded slightly. "See, you're putting too much pressure on the wound."

I sighed as I unwound the bandage partway. "Here, John. You do it." I handed him the end of the bandage and lifted my arms slightly. John silently started winding the bandage around my chest, far more loosely than I would have liked. I glanced down at John's face; he was blushing again.

"Really, John. You're going to have to get used to it. Are you like this with all your female patients?"

John tucked the bandage in. He cleared his throat as I put my shirt back on. "Lestrade texted. He'll be here in twenty minutes."

I put my blue dressing gown on and strode into the living where I sat in my chair. John followed me and sat down in his own chair. "Have you considered what type of injury I supposedly have?" I asked.

"I was thinking of just putting a dressing on your forearm or something. That way it's something that you won't have to keep wearing a dressing for after you're back in your suits. I'm sure you could pull off a fake injury just fine, but there's no point in making things more difficult than they need to be."

I nodded, and John went over to the first aid kit and pulled out a dressing. He knelt in front of me and applied it skillfully where it was visible under the sleeve of my dressing gown but would still be hidden by a suit jacket.

"I'm assuming I cut myself on chemistry equipment?"

John nodded. "Yeah. If he gets really nosy, all the stuff from last night is in the bin. Technically, you were injured; we're just fudging about where it is." I raised an eyebrow thoughtfully at his retreating back. John was getting better all the time. He was paying attention to details more and more, and he was even able to make fairly intelligent deductions occasionally. I was rather proud of him. He came back into the living room a few moments with a piece of toast with jam on a plate and handed it to me. "Eat," he said as he sat down with his own plate.

I ate part of the toast before setting it aside. John had just given me a dirty look when there was a knock on the door. While John went to answer it, I readjusted my dressing gown so it hung loose in the front. I had just settled back in the chair with my knees drawn up to my chest when John and Lestrade walked into the room.

"Sherlock," Lestrade said in greeting.

"Lestrade," I replied.

"Tea," John asked.

"Yeah, please," Lestrade said as he sat down in John's chair. "So, what's this I hear about you injuring yourself?"

"I cut myself on a broken beaker," I lied smoothly. "It was nothing. John's just overreacting."

"No, I'm not," John called from the kitchen. He brought three cups of tea back into the living room and handed Lestrade and I ours before he settled on the sofa.

Lestrade and I quickly finished the statement. I made sure to leave out my injury as they would have needed photographic proof of it to charge the killer. Lestrade quickly finished off his tea before he stood up, said goodbye, and left.

"See," John said, "that wasn't so bad. You didn't even have to get dressed."


	7. Chapter 6: Threatened

A/N: Hey, all my lovelies! I've had more than 1800 view! Thank you so much for sticking with me this far. Unfortunately, I'll be taking a brief hiatus. I'm moving, so I'll be busy doing moving-type stuff. I should be posting again sometime next week. I promise, it'll be worth it though! Sexytime coming up very soon!

* * *

It took me a week to convince John that I was well enough to bind my breasts regularly again. I was stuck at the flat, and my boredom was growing exponentially by the day. I was ecstatic when Lestrade texted me to go over a cold case with him. I threw on my suit with my purple shirt and rushed back to the living room. I was pulling on my freshly laundered coat when I noticed John staring at me.

"Yes?"

"It's just, um, if I hadn't seen proof otherwise, I'd never guess you were a woman."

"I've worked very hard for that to be the case. Just make sure you don't go calling me 'she', okay?"

"Got it," he grinned, shrugging on his own coat. I wound my scarf around my neck, and we headed down to the street and caught a taxi.

When we got to Lestrade's office, Donovan stopped us. "Oh, look, it's the Freak again with his loyal sidekick."

I saw John tense and open his mouth to insult her. They were going to know something was off if he acted out of character. "Yes, well, at least John is loyal, unlike your sidekick." I turned away and strode to Lestrade's office with John close behind me. Lestrade was on the phone, so I took the chance to talk to John.

"John," I hissed, "if you keep acting like that, people will suspect something's not right."

"Sorry. It's just...I'm really tired of her attitude. People shouldn't say things like that about you."

I was speechless for a moment. However, I quickly regained my composure and replied, "Thank you, but we need to be especially careful right now with what we say and how we act." John opened his mouth to reply, but Lestrade motioned for us to enter.

"Feeling any better, Sherlock?"

"I'm feeling fine. I told you, John was overreacting." John rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Anyway, I have a cold case I need you to look at. Pole dancer was killed by gunshot. We just found the weapon, but there were no fingerprints or anything else to link it back to the killer."

"Where was it found?"

"In the mud near Vauxhall Bridge. Some good samaritan called it in." He ran his fingers through his greying hair. He was agitated. His clothes were wrinkled, about two days; and the way he moved his head indicated a stiff neck, suggesting a night spent on a sofa. Problems with his wife then.

"Let me look at the file." He handed it to me, and I scanned the file looking for any significant points. The body was arranged oddly. The arms were placed above the head with the palms flat together, and the sole of the right foot was placed flat against the inside of the left leg. No signs of sexual assault or defensive wounds. Labs indicated no drugs. Single gunshot wound to the right side, just under the axilla.

"The placement of the gunshot wound is odd. If you were going to shoot her in the chest, why not aim for the front or back?"

"I dunno," Lestrade said.

"And what's with the way the body's arranged?" John asked.

"That was intentional. The killer was very specific about her placement. It has some similarities to dancing. See the way the foot is positioned? That's something you would see in ballet." I glanced at the file again. No personal effects were found on the body. I moved on to pictures of the ground surrounding the body. There, footprints.

"Judging by these footprints, you're looking for a male, approximately 6', thin and lithe. Probably some sort of background in dance, based on the placement of the body and his stride. There are no defensive wounds or signs of drugs in her system, so she must have been brought to the scene at gunpoint. Most likely, she was shot first, then robbed."

"Robbed?"

"Yes, robbed," I said impatiently. "Look at her outfit. She's a pole dancer, just coming off shift. Where's the money?"

"So this was a robbery?" Lestrade asked hopefully. "That's not our division."

"No, it was as much about murder as it was about robbery. Look at the care he took in arranging her. It's a performance to the killer. But he also took care to take her money. If he was trying to cover up a robbery gone wrong, he wouldn't have bothered with arranging the body."

"So what have we got here, Sherlock?"

"Something different. Call me if you have any more details. Come on, John."

* * *

I unlocked the front door at Baker St. and stepped inside. We were halfway up the stairs when I caught a whiff of something familiar. Ah, yes, I'd know that cologne anywhere. I stopped in front of the door, and John looked at me questioningly.

"John," I said, "we have a visitor." I pushed the door open and saw Mycroft sitting in John's armchair.

"Ah, Sherlock, Dr. Watson, what a pleasure," Mycroft oozed as I hung my coat up on its hook.

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

Mycroft's umbrella swung at his side as he stood up. "I merely stopped by to have a quick work with Dr. Watson."

"Tired of sending your assistant to kidnap me, Mycroft?" John asked wearily, a slight smile on his face.

"Not at all, Dr. Watson. The issue at hand requires my immediate attention however. Would you mind seeing me out?" John glanced my direction, and I sent him a warning glance. Mycroft was being more interfering than usual, and I knew exactly what this was about.

"Sure," John said, appearing calm except for the hand that he kept clenching and unclenching. I listened at the door as they walked down the stairs. Mycroft waited until he got to the bottom to start speaking. He obviously knew I was listening because he adopted a low tone that made it difficult for me to hear what was being said.

Mycroft's voice was first. "...sure you are aware...sibling's...secret…if any harm...will find your body." I sighed. Mycroft was being extremely dull. I did not think he could be any more predictable, yet here was proof.

I focused my attention again at John's voice. "...absolutely nothing has changed in our relationship. It's exactly as it was before." Ah, John was speaking loudly so I could hear what he was saying. "She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Goodbye, Mycroft." I heard footsteps on the stairs and the front door open and close. John was standing up for me to my brother, even though I know that ordinary people find him intimidating. I was grateful. It was the second time that morning that he did something like that.

I took a few steps away from the door as John climbed the stairs. I made it appear as though I hadn't been listening even though he would know better. John opened the door and glanced at me before he hung his jacket on the hook. "Tea?" he asked.

"Yes." He walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on. "Um, John," I started.

"Hm?" he asked absentmindedly.

"Um, that thing. Both of those things. They were, um...good. Thank you."

"That's what friends do, Sherlock."


	8. Chapter 7: Tension

Well, apparently I got this done a lot more quickly than I expected to. I'm nice and settled in my apartment, and as my gift to myself, I left you all with a little cliffhanger! Yes, I know I'm evil.  
So, here it is. Enjoy! And please, please, please, review! I need a little moral support before I start school again ;)

* * *

John removed my stitched a few days after the incident with Mycroft, and he was still embarrassed by the procedure. I found it somewhat irritating, but it also made me feel affectionate toward John. It was, for lack of a better word, cute. There were more lingering looks between us. Sometimes, we'd look at each other for several moments before one of us would break the connection awkwardly. This always made John clear his throat and blush. The man seemed to spend more time in the past few days looking like a tomato than he had in the previous two years we had lived together. And he would always touch me in some way whenever he was near me. I knew part of it was his protective instinct, but there was something more there. It was always fleeting, so I didn't have much time to analyze it. A brush of fingers while handing me tea, a gentle squeeze of my shoulder as he walked past me, a sort of pat on my head where he'd run his fingers through my curls. It was somewhat unnerving, and I wasn't sure what I thought of it.

Despite John's declarations otherwise, love was perfectly clear to me, chemically. The sentiment associated with love, however, was completely unfamiliar to me, and I wasn't sure precisely what I was experiencing. I was always less bored, and even happy when John was near. I did things for him that I would never do for anyone else. I listened to him when he told me to do things, like eating, to make him feel better. Generally, I let him fuss over me even though it was something I wouldn't stand from even my own mother. John also accepted the work. More than that really; he embraced it with almost the same fervor that I did. He always made sure to accompany me on cases if he could.

But I still did things that frustrated and irritated John. I left body parts in the refrigerator, played the violin all night, and repeatedly forced him to follow me around London at all times of the day, even if he was ill or exhausted. Love is supposedly selfless, and I knew that I was not. I could be demanding, rude, and arrogant. I knew that I would not change who I was, not for anyone, not even John.

As for potential physical intimacy, I was surprisingly comfortable with the idea. In fact, the prospect of sex with John was extremely appealing. I found him physically attractive. I also found his scent entrancing. There were times, in our post-case high, that I was overwhelmed by the urge to touch him, smell him, kiss him. I would always divert my attention to avoid an awkward situation, but those urges were still there, hidden under the facade. I also wanted to touch John in a non-sexual manner, like I had the time we had fallen asleep on the sofa while he was watching crap telly. My desire to touch him was becoming harder and harder for me to control.

But what did John want? There was obviously something between us. The signs were all there. I jumped off the sofa, flinging the thoughts aside in disgust. Something would have to happens soon, but not right this moment. I was doing nothing but chasing these thoughts in circles, getting nowhere.

It had been nearly a week since Lestrade had called us in for the cold case. I was more and more on edge as each day passed. The boredom and frustration from the lack of cases as well as the tension between John and I were mounting daily, and I wasn't sure how much longer I'd be able to stand it. Molly was also refusing to give me any more organs, so I couldn't do any of the new experiments I had planned. The universe was determined to make my life miserable, and John wouldn't even let me smoke to relieve my boredom.

"Bored," I said. John raised an eyebrow, but didn't look up from his computer. He was ignoring me. "Bored!" I said again, more loudly.

John looked up this time. "What do you want me to do about it?"

I huffed as I flung myself down in my chair. I glared at John, who was watching me over the top of his laptop. I felt myself warming at his gaze. Fortunately, I was able to suppress the blush that wanted to bloom across my face. Finally, after what felt like eternity, he looked down, going back to what he was doing. I jumped up and stormed off to my room, both disgusted by his unresponsiveness and perturbed by my response to his gaze. I needed to go to my mind palace to organize my jumbled thoughts and emotions about John. We were getting to the point where it was difficult for us to be in the same room together.

I quickly went over my own feelings. I had spent so much time considering them that they took almost no time to review. The warmth I felt toward John, my changing feelings, and my new desires were disturbing. They didn't make sense, unless I was actually in love with John. I paused at this. It felt right. I had briefly considered the possibility, but I had discounted it. My own self-perceptions were getting in the way, and they made me ignore the obvious. I was in love with John. I slapped myself mentally. How could I be so stupid?

I then mapped out what I knew of John's sentiments, ignoring the underlying feelings of anxiety and fear I had due to my realization. He was obviously attracted to me. His eyes dilated every time he touched me. I could measure the increase in his heart and breathing rates whenever he changed my dressings. He also cared for me far beyond his capacity as a doctor and my flatmate. He stood up to Mycroft and attempted to stand up to Donovan for me. He was always upset when I mentioned being teased when I was younger and was quick with a positive response. In fact, he was always quick to respond to any insult against me. He also appreciated my intellect and accepted the work. They had been the two most important things in my life before John, and it was vital that he accepted them for any relationship between us to work. But would he expect me to change? Supposedly being in a relationship changes people, and I would not change anything about myself unless it was something that I wanted to change.

I slowly pulled out of my mind palace quickly ordering my thoughts. I was definitely in love with John, and I was fairly sure he was in love with me. I didn't think John would push me to change myself, but I wasn't sure. I needed to check and be sure. I wouldn't be able to stand it if he wanted me to change. I couldn't put myself on the line like that before I was positive; I had to protect myself.

Looking out the window, I noticed it was long after dark. I had been in my mind palace for quite a while. I stood and stretched, working the kinks out of my back and shoulder. Slipping my dressing gown on, I took a deep breath before exiting my room to confront John about my feelings.


	9. Chapter 8: Breaking The Tension

A/N: I am absolutely thrilled by the response to this story. Once again, thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. I'm happy to have created something that you enjoy.

So, pretty, pretty please review! I hope you enjoy. These two are FINALLY getting somewhere.

* * *

John was in the kitchen preparing his last cup of tea before bed. I silently walked across the flat until I was standing right behind him. I stood quietly, watching as he went through the familiar motions. I inhaled lightly; he smelled good. I scanned his shoulders. His appearance was unassuming, but underneath was the body of a soldier. I could just detect the tone of his muscles. I wanted to spend days examining them. John dropped his spoon in the sink, and I quickly redirected my attention to the issue at hand. I assumed a neutral facial expression just as he turned.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" he cursed, dropping his cup and sloshing tea down his front. "Are you trying to give me heart failure?"

"Of course not," I murmured.

John gulped. "Did you need something?"

"I need to ask you a question." I took a step forward, forcing him to take a step back. He was against the counter now.

"Wha-what did you want to know?" he stuttered. He flushed, and his pupils dilated.

"Are you attracted to me?" His eyes widened in fear. He was trying to come up with something to say without incriminating himself. His reaction betrayed him however; he was attracted to me.

"Um, why do you want to know that?"

I took a fraction of a second to suppress the panic I was feeling before I continued. "Because I believe that I am in love with you, John Watson. And I'm fairly certain that you return the sentiment."

John gulped again. "And what brought this on?"

"Several hours of contemplating what has been happening between us since long before I left."

"Ah. And tell me, what do you see?"

"Growing affection between us. Physical attraction. Emotional attachment. That I need you."

I watched as John took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. He had decided on a course of action. I fidgeted anxiously, waiting to see if he would acknowledge his feeling or ignore them.

"I suppose I've been seeing the same thing." I let out the breath that I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Just one condition, John. I-I can't change who I am. I am selfish and rude. Relationships are supposed to be selfless and caring." I took a step back, not quite meeting his eye.

John caught my wrist and pulled me back toward him, looking me straight in the eye with a blistering intensity. "What do you mean you aren't selfless? You jumped off a fucking building to save my life. Granted, it was a crackpot scheme that you are never ever going to repeat under any circumstances, but you did that for me. I don't want you to change. I fell in love with you the way you are. And I've lived with you for years. I think I'm well aware of what a relationship with you would entail-mmph."

I cut off the end of his sentence by pressing my lips to his. John paused for a moment, stunned, before he responded eagerly, his lips slightly parted moving against mine. I tangled my hands in his jumper, pulling him closer. He moaned and moved his free hand up to cup my face. Tentatively, I swiped the tip of my tongue across John's bottom lip. He parted his lips, his tongue meeting mine. His tongue stroked mine, and I stroked his tongue back. John moved his hand from my face to cup the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my curls in the process. I was surrounded by John, his scent, his warmth, his strength; and I never wanted to leave. Unfortunately, I needed to breathe, so I pulled back and trailed kisses across his jaw.

"Jesus, Sherlock," John moaned as I moved down to where his neck met his shoulder and sucked hard. He would definitely have a mark there.

I pulled back and was about to suggest moving to somewhere more comfortable when my phone went off. I buried my face in John's shoulder as I groaned. Things were finally progressing. We were interrupted just as things got interesting. Typical. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check my message. It was a text from Lestrade.

**Case. Body in same position as that cold case. Can you come? -GL**

I looked at John excitedly. "There's a case. Same as the body in the cold case!" John sighed as I stepped away from him and sent a quick reply to Lestrade. I glanced at John. His lips were red and swollen, and the front of his jumper was wrinkled. I smirked at him. "That was enjoyable." I turned, my dressing gown swishing behind me dramatically as I rushed to my room to get dressed. When I returned, John was putting his coat on.

"We'll have to do that again sometime," I said as brushed my finger across the mark on his neck.

"Definitely," he replied. He tipped his head upwards and placed a soft kiss on my lips before turning and walking out the door. I quickly put my coat and scarf on and followed behind him.


	10. Chapter 9: Trouble At Body Shots

A/N: So sorry for the wait. School just started up for me again. Hopefully, I'll get the next chapter up soon, but it will probably be a couple days.

Please read and review. Some of my best work is inspired by your input.

Enjoy!

* * *

The crime scene was in the alley outside a club called Body Shots. As we approached, I saw Lestrade at the police line waiting for us. His jaw was clenched, and his entire posture was tense. He lifted the police tape without a word. John and I walked underneath it and walked with Lestrade toward the alley. I glanced at Lestrade, trying to deduce his frame of mind. He was still tense about his wife. She was making him sleep on the couch. However, there was something else, something about the case. He seemed to be worried about the manner of the killing, based on his behavior at the scene so far and the text he had sent me earlier. Ah, so he was worried that this was going to be a serial killing and that he would have deal with pressure from both his superiors and the press.

Greg stopped at the mouth of the alley. "Body's in there. Another pole dancer. Bullet wound is in the same place, and the body's in the same position. This is looking like a serial killing."

"Yes, thank you for stating obvious facts, Lestrade. Come on, John." John tipped his head to one side running his hand through his hair and sighed just as Donovan walked over.

"What's that?" Donovan asked as she pointed to John's neck.

I thought quickly trying to come up with something to say that would keep John from having to respond when I heard him speak.

"It's a love bite."

"Ah, good, so you're taking my advice and getting away from the freak."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," John replied. He appeared to be calm, but his fist was clenching and unclenching. It was his usually sign of tension. "In fact, I'd say that we're getting along really well."

Donovan's jaw dropped, and I raised my eyebrows. I had not been expecting that. John turned and grabbed my arm pulling me away, Donovan spluttering behind us.

"You didn't have to do that," I murmured quietly.

"I've been wanting to do something like that for a while." He grinned at me.

"So you're okay with people knowing about us?"

"Well, yeah, I'd say so, considering what I just did."

I smiled at John as we approached the body, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. The body was positioned the same as the last one. She was wearing a coat over her dancing outfit. She had been heading for a car, based on her outfit and shoes. I crouched down to look at the bullet wound. Same position as the last one. I checked her pockets, finding nothing. I scanned the ground around her. There were a few hairs, blonde, that did not match the woman's. The footprints matched the ones in the photographs. I took a vial out of my coat and scraped some foreign mud from the killer's footprints. I stood quickly, slipping the vial into my coat pocket. I removed the gloves and walked over to where John was talking with Lestrade.

"The footprints match. This was the same killer. There are also some blonde hairs next to the body that Anderson needs to catalogue. Hopefully, he won't destroy the evidence." I glanced back to locate him. His mouth was open while Donovan was whispering in his ear. I smirked at the disbelieving look on his face. I looked back at Lestrade. "You are looking for a 6' man with blonde hair who is thin and light on his feet, perhaps a professional dancer or a dance instructor."

I turned and walked toward the road. John muttered a quick apology to Lestrade before following me. "Where are we off to now?" John asked.

"Bart's. I need to process a soil sample."

"Ah." John's tone was tense. He had been colder toward Molly since he found out her part in my deception.

"John, there's no need to blame Molly. She was merely doing what I asked. You should really be grateful toward her, really. I wouldn't have managed any of it without her."

John made a noncommittal noise as we climbed into a taxi. He was quiet the entire ride, which was fortunate because I was reviewing the facts of the case. Somehow, this was about dancing. There were too many blatant references to it. The robbery aspect did not make sense, however. That was the link I was having a difficult time making. I growled in frustration as we were pulling up to Bart's.

In the lab, I quickly pulled the supplies that I would need to analyze the mud sample. Molly was trying, and failing, to flirt with me. John sat at bench across from me, alternating between watching my movements and glaring at Molly. I tried to ignore him, but I could feel his gaze on me while I worked.

Molly left, muttering something about food. John waited a few moments, then stood up. He walked around the bench to stand next to me. He stood quietly while I set up and ran the program to analyze the mud sample. I had just hit the enter key, when he moved his head closer to mine.

"Hey," he whispered in my ear. I shivered as his breath brushed across my ear. He smirked.

"I'm trying to analyze a sample, John. You're distracting me."

"You're not doing anything right now. I figured we could pick up where we left off earlier."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Molly could walk in at any time."

"Makes it that much more fun, don't you think? Kind of…" he looked down at my lips before flicking his eyes back up to meet my eyes. "...dangerous."

I gulped, trying to ignore the sensation in my chest. "You really get off on danger, don't you?" My voice cracked at the end. John smiled as leaned in and kissed me. He tangled his fingers in my hair as he deepened the kiss. This kiss was different than the one earlier. It was much more desperate. John was dominating my mouth, and I loved every second of it. I squeaked in surprise when John nipped my bottom lip, and he chuckled quietly at my reaction. I had just slipped my hands into the back of his shirt when the computer made a beeping noise. I jumped at the noise. John scanned me, then laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" I asked indignantly.

"Your hair. You look like you've been thoroughly snogged."

"Well, I have been thoroughly snogged. What else would you expect?" I turned back to look at the computer screen. There were traces of mud from the Vauxhall-Lambeth area. I grabbed my phone out of my coat pocket and sent a text to Lestrade telling him the test results. I glanced at John who was tucking his shirt back in. I smiled at him wickedly.

"I'm finished here. We should go back to the flat." I watched him visibly gulp, his eyes focused on me. "Come, my dear Watson. Let's continue where we left off."

* * *

A/N: Another cliffhanger! Things start getting sexy in the next chapter! Woman on man action; don't like, don't read!


	11. Chapter 10: Uninterrupted

A/N: This chapter has sex! Smutty sex. If you are uncomfortable with this, please skip to the next chapter; you won't miss anything important to the plot.

On another note, please forgive me if this is terrible. Sex is one of those things I have a hard time writing.

Please read and review!

* * *

John and I climbed into a taxi outside of Bart's. He was close enough to me that our legs were touching. I wanted to kiss him so badly, but I could tell that cabbie was homophobic. He watched us suspiciously in his rearview mirror, and I didn't fancy trying find another taxi. John slowly moved his hand over to rest on my thigh. He began stroking it, and it felt good. I glanced at the cabbie; he was focused on the road. I moved my hand quickly and placed it over the crotch of John's jeans. He already had an erection. John inhaled sharply as I began to lightly stroke my fingertips across the bulge. I smirked at him. He responded by slipping his hand down between my legs and running his finger along the seam of my dress trousers. I gasped, and the cabbie looked back at us suspiciously. I glared at John. He smirked back at me.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally turned onto Baker St. The taxi pulled up to the kerb, and I hurried to unlock the door before John finished paying. I walked in and waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. As soon as John had locked the door, I crossed the room, pushed him against the door, and kissed him.

I attacked John's lips with my own, tugging his bottom lip gently. I ran my hands down his back and grabbed his arse. John slipped his hands inside my coat and suit jacket, pulling my shirt up and slipping his hands inside. I pulled away from his mouth and unbuttoned his shirt.

"God, Sherlock," John moaned quietly. I slipped my hands into John's shirt and lowered my mouth to kiss the mark that I had made earlier. I felt pressure where John's hands were, and he quickly turned me so our positions were reversed. John had just started unbuttoning my shirt when I heard a door open. I grabbed his wrist to keep him from opening my shirt any further.

"Mrs. Hudson," I hissed in response to his confused expression, just as Mrs. Hudson came out into the hall.

"Really, you two," she clucked disapprovingly, "you have your entire flat for that sort of thing."

John turned bright red and began to splutter. I spoke up. John was in no state to respond. "Apologies, Mrs. Hudson." I grabbed John's arm and pulled him toward the stairs before Mrs. Hudson could say anything else.

"My room?" I asked when we had entered the flat.

"I can't believe Mrs. Hudson walked in on us." His tone was pained, and his blush had still not faded.

"Don't worry, John. She's thought we've been together since you first moved in."

"Oh, God. This is still so embarrassing."

His anguish was getting annoying. "John," I interrupted impatiently, "do you want to have sex with me or not?"

John froze, then looked over at me, grinning. "Of course."

"Come on then." I led him to my room, taking my coat off and draping it over the back of John's armchair.

"Strip," I said once we were in the room. "I want to see all of you now." I was curious. I had never seen John naked before.

John hesitated. "What's wrong?" I asked, scanning him for any sign that he was going put a stop to this.

"It's just...I'm a bit self-conscious about my scar." He didn't meet my eyes, looking down instead.

I lifted his chin so he was looking at me. "I'm not having sex with your scar; I'm having sex with you."

"Yeah, but it's kind of a mess."

"John, I don't care." I stroked his jaw with my thumb. "Really. And anyway, you've see a lot more of me than I've seen of you."

John nodded his head slightly, a sign that he had made up his mind. He pulled his shirt off, closely followed by his vest. My eyes flicked from the large, knotted scar on his shoulder to a few smaller ones across his ribs that were caused by knife wounds. A feeling that was somewhere between pride and pity swelled in my chest. I placed my hand on John's chest feeling the springy hair there. Moving my hand downwards, I lightly flicked his nipple before moving down and tracing my finger down the trail of hair that disappeared behind the waist of his jeans. John inhaled sharply at the contact, thrusting forward slightly. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me in for a kiss. He moved his hands down the front of my shirt, deftly unbuttoning it with his skillful surgeon's hands. Our tongues explored each other's mouths as he pulled my shirt off my shoulders. He slowly unwound the bandage around my chest. The combination of the bandage being removed and John's fingers skimming my bare skin felt wonderful.

When I was finally free of the bandage, I took a step back and surveyed John.

"You need to be wearing less," I said. My fingers teased his erection for a moment before slipping the button of his jeans free.

"You're driving me crazy, Sherlock," he groaned.

"Good," I replied, pushing him backwards onto the bed. I climbed up after him, straddling his legs. I was lowering his zip when he reached up and cupped my breasts, flicking his thumbs across my nipples in the process. I squeaked in surprise. John chuckled. I placed my hands on his forearms, reveling in the sensation of his hands on my breasts and the quiet strength of the man beneath me. His unassuming appearance hid the man underneath, but I was lucky to see him, quite literally. Bending down, I placed a kiss on John's throat and continued to move across his chest and stomach until I reached his jeans.

"Lift your hips." He did, and I pulled his jeans and pants down in one smooth motion. John's penis was standing erect with clear liquid leaking from the tip. I spread it across the head with my fingertips, leaving John shuddering. I stroked the shaft lightly, watching John's reactions. His hand were resting flat on my legs, and every time I did something he liked, he would moan and squeeze my thighs tighter.

After a few moments, I moved to kneel next to him, unbuttoning my trousers in the process. I kicked my shoes and socks off and quickly tugged my trousers and pants off. John was watching me closely, and I could feel myself growing hotter underneath his intense gaze.

"You are so beautiful," he said. He sat up and pulled his shoes and his jeans off quickly. We were both completely naked now. He knelt next to me and wrapped his arms around me before proceeding to kiss every inch of skin he could reach. The sensation was amazing, so much better than it had been with Victor.

I moved my hand down to stroke his erection again, and John's moved to stroke between my legs, slipping a finger inside and circling his thumb around my clitoris. I was getting closer to climaxing with each passing moment.

"John," I moaned breathily. "I'm close."

"Come for me, Sherlock," he whispered in my ear. It was all I needed; a wave of pleasure crashed over me, and I didn't notice anything but myself and John and the pleasure. I rested my head against John's shoulder, completely overwhelmed by the sensation. John stroked my hair, watching me, the desire evident in his eyes.

After what seemed to be an immeasurable amount of time, I spoke. "The condoms are in the drawer. I'm clean, but I'm not on birth control."

John kissed me again before leaning back to rummage through my drawer. He finally pulled out a condom after finding several of Lestrade's badges and Mycroft's government IDs.

"You sure?" John asked apprehensively.

"Of course," I replied, plucking the condom out of his hand. I quickly opened it and rolled it over his erection. I lay back and looked up at John with an inviting expression on my face. When he didn't move, I said, "Well, come on, Dr. Watson."

John smiled as he moved to align himself with me. He pressed another kiss to my lips as he pushed into me. He continued to thrust, the pressure sending waves of pleasure through my body. As he got closer, his thrusts became more erratic.

"Oh god. Sherlock," he moaned, thrusting twice more before climaxing. He collapsed on me, supporting most of his weight on his left arm. I let him lie there for a few moments, stroking his sweat-drenched back.

"John," I said eventually.

"Hm?"

"You should move before your shoulder starts to hurt." Without a word, he moved so that he was lying beside me, pulling the condom off, knotting it, and tossing it neatly into the rubbish bin. I rolled over and tucked myself against his side. "That was...incredible," I said. John buried his face in my hair and threw an arm across my my waist.

"Mhm," he finally replied.

"You aren't very talkative," I teased.

"Sleepy," he grunted. I reached behind me and pulled the duvet over us. "You're staying?" he asked, looking surprised.

"Of course." I frowned at him. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You usually don't like to sleep."

"I'm going to lie here with you while you sleep." John pulled me close and kissed me gently.

"Thank you," he said a while later.

"There isn't anywhere I'd rather be." The only indication that he had heard me was the slight tightening of his grip; he was nearly asleep. I went to my mind palace to go over details from the case while John slept, both of us completely at peace.


	12. Chapter 11: Lazy Day

A/N: Okay, this one's kind of fluffy. Overly-protective Mycroft! Things might be a little slow for the next few chapters. Lots of stuff going on with school.

Please read and review. I enjoy reading your feedback.

* * *

I woke early with something warm pressed against me. I cracked my eyes and saw a shock of blonde and grey hair. John's face was buried in the pillows, his arm thrown across my waist. I sighed. I had not meant to fall asleep, but I had been incredibly comfortable curled up next to John and must have dropped off. Carefully, trying not to wake him, I rolled onto my side so I was facing John. I had just settled comfortable when he grunted, tightening his arm around me. I held still, trying not to wake him anymore than I had.

"G'morning, Sh'lock." His voice was muffled by the pillows.

I ran my fingers through his hair gently. "Good morning, John." He rolled over so he was facing me. His took one look at me before he burst out laughing.

"What?" I asked indignantly.

"Your hair," he giggled. "It's sticking up _everywhere_!" My hands flew up to my head trying to flatten my hair. I always got dreadful bed head, ever since I was a child.

"Yes, John," I sniffed, forcing my hands back down to my sides. I tried to regain my composure. "It's called bed head."

"Aw, I'm sorry, Sherlock," John said apologetically. "I'm just used to seeing you put together." I decided that he was going to pay for laughing at me. I slipped an annoyed expression on my face. "Forgive me?" he asked sheepishly. I moved like was going to get out of bed before I made my move. I launched myself at him suddenly, ruffling his hair so it stood up on end.

"There," I said smugly. "Now you have bed head also."

John wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in to kiss him. It was a slow, lazy kiss. After a while, I pulled away. "I'm going to go take a shower," I said, standing up. John pouted, obviously wanting me to stay.

"Are you coming?" I asked. John jumped off the bed and eagerly followed me to the bathroom.

* * *

Later, after an energetic round of shower sex, John and I were lounging on my bed in pyjamas. John was working on his blog while gently stroking my hair, my head resting in his lap. I absentmindedly stroked his leg while considering the case. I was plotting a map of all the dance studios in Vauxhall and Lambeth. There was not enough data for me eliminate any of the possibilities. The killer robbing the bodies still didn't make sense either. I couldn't see any motive for it. Unless there was another body that gave me more information soon, John and I would have to do extensive legwork. It was not an appealing prospect.

I frowned slightly. I wanted to stay home with John. Sex with him was new, and I wanted to explore it uninterrupted for as long as I could. This surprised me. The work had always been the most interesting and most important thing in my life. Now it was John. I was still interested in the work; it was an important part of who I was. But if the work were to suddenly vanish, I don't think I'd be completely devastated like I might once have been. John came into my life and firmly established himself as the most important thing to me.

"Sherlock!" John said sharply.

"What?" I asked.

" I've been calling your name."

"And?"

"You weren't answering."

"What did you expect? I was thinking."

"Hmph. Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted a cup of tea."

"Yes."

John rolled his eyes as he stood up off the bed. "Two sugars?"

"Yes."

John left the room, and I laid on the bed for a couple minutes before getting up, bored. I walked into the living room to find Mycroft sitting in John's armchair. I glanced toward the kitchen. John was facing the counter making tea. His back was to us; his posture was tense.

"What are you doing here, Mycroft?" I asked, and edge of hostility in my voice.

"I merely popped by to say hello. Although, I have to admit, I find it fascinating that both yourself and Dr. Watson were in your bedroom in only your pyjamas."

"My sex life is none of your business." I flopped down in my chair and subtly glared at him.

"Don't be alarmed, Sherlock. I wasn't insinuating anything." He arched an eyebrow at me.

"I told you before; sex doesn't alarm me." I stood my ground; I would not be the first to lose my composure.

"Apparently not."

I opened my mouth to comment on his obvious weight gain when John forced a cup of tea into my hands and gave me a look of warning. I scowled at him, then made a point of staring at his arse while he handed Mycroft his tea. Mycroft shifted uncomfortable and cleared his throat. I smirked; he lost his composure, even if it had been for just a moment. I had won.

"Is there anything else you need, brother dear, besides prying into my and John's private lives?" Mycroft took a sip of tea before setting it down.

"Charming," he deflected, standing up. "Isn't she charming?" he directed at John sarcastically.

"Yes, I think so," John replied with an air of menace. Mycroft's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Well, I must be off. I have to deal with a military coup in...well, you don't need to know that." He grasped his umbrella and let it swing by his side. "Goodbye, Sherlock. Dr. Watson, please remember what I said last time we spoke." He and John had a silent stare-down for a moment before, he strode out of the flat. I stuck my tongue out just as he pulled the door shut. John saw this and barely suppressed a giggle.

"Your brother…" John began.

"Is a complete prat. Yes, I know." I walked over to John and twined my fingers through his. "I don't want to talk about my brother though."

John raised his eyebrows, and his pupils dilated. "I like your thinking," he replied, his voice slightly husky.

"I am a genius," I said as I led him toward the bedroom.


	13. Chapter 12: A Discovery

A/N: So sorry it's taking me so long to update. My school schedule is crazy busy. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up by the end of this weekend. Please review. It makes me happy!

Enjoy!

* * *

John and I spent the next two days either having sex or resting in between rounds of sex. It was extremely pleasant except for the experiment with hot wax that left John with slightly less chest hair and a few minor burns. Mrs. Hudson walked in on us twice. Fortunately, I managed to cover myself before she noticed anything out of place. Both times, John turned bright red, doing nothing but spluttering for twenty minutes. It really put me off. Needless to say, John made sure the door was locked.

It was late evening on the second day, and John and I were sitting in the living room quietly after a rather intense round of kitchen sex that resulted in a few broken test tubes. I was sprawled on the sofa, my dressing gown draped across my body with nothing underneath. John was sitting in his armchair typing slowly on his laptop. He was wearing nothing but pyjama bottoms. I licked my lips lightly; John had a focused look on his face. His eyes crinkled a little, and the corners of his mouth were turned down. My eyes traced the line of his shoulders. I loved the way that they were toned with a soft edge; following me around London had definitely kept him in shape. My gaze moved down to his chest. There were red spots that were missing hair. I smiled to myself; it looked slightly ridiculous.

I had just gotten off the couch to initiate sex with John, perhaps on the stairs this time, when there was a knock on the door. I groaned. John looked at the door, then at me. He smirked when he saw the disappointed look on my face.

"Later," he promised. I groaned again, frustrated. I wrapped my dressing gown loosely around myself and crossed my arms across my chest as I went to open the door.

"Yes?" I asked harshly. Lestrade was at the door.

"Sherlock!" John said sharply.

"Come in," I mumbled sarcastically, turning and walking away from the door. I glanced over at John. He had slipped on a dressing gown. I stuck my tongue out at him as I sat down in my armchair; he just smirked at me. Lestrade cleared his throat awkwardly before sitting down on the sofa.

"Tea?" John asked.

"Yeah, please."

"Obviously you're here about a case," I stated.

"Yeah, it's another one of those killings. This one was found outside a club called V.I.P. Another pole dancer. Same position, same cause of death." He leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

I jumped up excitedly and went into my room to change. Fortunately, Lestrade had been too distracted by to case to pay attention to me. I was getting far too careless with my disguise, especially around him and Mrs. Hudson. I quickly bound my breasts and put my shirt on. Perhaps it would be wisest to tell them. It would make my interactions with them more efficient if I didn't always have to make sure my facade was in place. The incident with the sheet a few years back was a perfect example. I had been completely at Mycroft's mercy. I slipped my suit and shoes on and walked back into the living room.

John and Lestrade were drinking tea, chatting about rugby. I sat down in my chair, a cup of tea waiting on the table. "Are you coming, John?" I asked over my cup.

"Of course," he said looking confused.

"Well, perhaps you should get dressed."

"Be patient, Sherlock," he admonished. "The body's not going anywhere." He went into my room and came back out a few moments later with his shoes and coat before heading up to his room. I looked over at Lestrade. There was a look of disbelief on his face.

"What?" I asked.

"You-he-I thought-"

"I would appreciate it if you would speak in complete sentences, Lestrade. Did you not hear what John said the other day? He was completely serious."

"Yes, but I-well, hell. I thought he was joking. I mean, it's completely fine. I just didn't expect you or John were, um...I mean I guess it kind of makes sense. You know-"

I put my hand up. His blabbering was irritating me. Fortunately, John came in just then.

"I'm ready," he said looking from me to Lestrade. "Um, is something wrong?"

I stood and put on my coat. "Lestrade is having a panic attack because he thought you were joking when you implied that we were in a relationship the other day."

"Ah," John said starting to blush. I huffed; I swear, the man could do nothing else. "It's, uh, it's true. Sherlock and I are together."

Lestrade had finally collected himself. "Well, I'm happy for you two." He shook John's hand.

"If only Mycroft would be as considerate," John joked. Lestrade's jaw clenched and his face turned red. I scanned him, trying to make sense of his behavior. He was embarrassed about something.

"Well, come on," Lestrade said. "We should get going." He was trying to deflect attention away from himself. I went over the conversation. I-of course.

"How long?" I asked.

John frowned at me. "How long what?"

I ignored him. "How long, Detective Inspector?" I growled somewhat menacingly.

"I don't know what you're-"

"Don't try that with me. You know it doesn't work. _How long_?" John was looking from me to Lestrade so quickly that I was sure he was going to strain his neck.

Lestrade sighed. "Almost two years."

"Two years! How is that possible. How did I not notice it?"

"Well, if you remember, you weren't here two years ago!"

"Yes, but I've been back for more than six months! How did you hide it from me?"

"I've had a long time to practice!"

John stepped between us. "Would you two stop shouting?" I hadn't realized that we were. "Okay, now one of you is going to explain what the hell the two of you are talking about."

"Lestrade is having sex with Mycroft," I volunteered immediately. "They have been in a relationship for two years apparently."

John's mouth gaped open. I reached over and pushed it shut. He shook his head. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," I replied. A feeling of dread suddenly hit me. I didn't know how much Lestrade knew. "What's he told you?"

"What do you mean? Lestrade asked, looking puzzled. His confusion was genuine.

"Nevermind. It doesn't matter." I glanced at John. He had a gleeful look on his face. "What?" I asked him.

"I have something against Mycroft next time he comes threatening me." I smiled at him.

Lestrade sighed, running his hand over his face. "The three of you are going to be the death of me, I swear."

"Come on," I said. "There's a body to see." I grabbed my scarf and started down the stairs. I heard Lestrade sigh again before he and John followed.

* * *

This body was the same as the last two. I was unable to find any new leads. John and I left the scene and got a taxi. I gave the driver directions to a dance studio on the other side of Vauxhall.

"Where're we going?" John asked.

"We need to check out the dance studios in the area. We need to see if there's anything connecting one of the studios to the bodies."

We spent several hours looking at every studio, but I came up with nothing. John was exhausted, and I was frustrated, so we went back to the flat. John collapsed in bed, only pausing to remove his coat and shoes. I climbed in after him after I removed the bandage and changed into my pyjamas.

Something had to connect the bodies to the killer, but I could not work it out. I plotted out the clubs in the area. They were all happening in the same part of Vauxhall. There were three major clubs: Body Shots, V.I.P., and Dave's. Most likely, the killer would target Dave's some time in the next few days. The only way I could see to stop the killer was risky. John wouldn't like it, and it would require me to remove my disguise.

I glanced at John. He would insist on being included. I suppose it would be possible, but it would make things more difficult. Still, it would make him feel better. I sighed. This was going to be unpleasant.

I was going to pose as a pole dancer to bait the killer.


	14. Chapter 13: The Plan

A/N: Alrighty! Here's some lovely John-Sherlock and Lestrade-Sherlock drama. Please review!

* * *

I got out of bed after a couple of hours. It was early morning, around four. I sat at my desk and began researching pole dancing. After watching several clips and reading a few websites, I was fairly sure that I would be able to do this fairly easily. The dance classes that Mummy had insisted that I take when I was young were going to pay off.

I glanced at the clock. It was just after six; Mycroft would be up. I pulled out my phone and quickly sent him a text.

**I need a dance studio with a pole and an instructor. -SH**

**Whatever for? -MH**

**Case. Don't tell Lestrade. -SH**

**Ah, yes. He mentioned your conversation. -MH**

**Not my problem right now. Can you arrange it? -SH**

**Yes. Anthea will text you the details. -MH**

**I'm going to have to tell Lestrade. -SH**

**Are you sure? I've been careful. -MH**

**I'm not going to get his cooperation otherwise. Also, it is getting tired trying to hide it, especially with the situation with John. -SH**

**When? -MH**

**Tonight. -SH**

**Very well. I will be prepared. -MH**

I checked the time; John wouldn't be up before noon, judging by his snoring. He had been completely exhausted by the time we had gotten home. Fortunately, that gave me plenty of time to shop before he woke up.

I went into my bedroom. John's face was buried in the pillows. Apparently, he like to sleep like that. I quickly dressed in one of the few female outfits I owned. As I was heading out the door, I glanced back at the John. The blankets had slipped down to his waist. I knelt on the bed carefully and pulled it up to his shoulders. I knew how stiff and sore his shoulder got when he was too cold. I pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his head before getting out of bed and leaving the flat, easily slipping past Mrs. Hudson.

* * *

I climbed the stairs to 221B a few hours later, several bags in my hands. John should still be asleep, so I'd have plenty of time to hide them. I sighed. I had always hated shopping, and today was much worse than usual. The saleswoman had been overwhelming and hovered over me until I mentioned that she was having an affair with her female personal trainer. She became angry and stormed off, which allowed me to finish my shopping in relative peace.

I pushed the door open and dropped my bags onto the sofa. I turned to change back into my pyjamas when John was suddenly in front of me. I jumped; he was getting much better at being stealthy.

"What's going on, Sherlock?" he asked.

"What exactly are you referring to?"

"Your behavior today. First you dress in women's clothes. Then you tuck me in and kiss me while I'm sleeping like you're saying goodbye or something." I raised my eyebrows at this. I hadn't realized that he had woken up. "Then you you come back with bags from a lingerie shop. You're planning something. What are you going to do?"

"Very good, John," I deflected. "Your skills of deduction are improving." I walked into the room. I wanted to avoid talking about this for as long as possible. Unfortunately, John followed me.

"So," he asked crossing his arms over his chest, " what's the plan?"

I flopped down on the bed and sighed. "You're not going to like it."

"Tell me anyway," he said more gently. He sat down next to me and began to stroke my hair. I pushed my head into his palm; if felt pleasant.

"I'm going to pose as a pole dancer in order to get the killer to expose himself."

John sighed. I turned to look at him. There was a slightly sad look on his face. This was not the reaction I was expecting. I frowned. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing, Sherlock," he sighed.

I sat up and turned so I was facing him. "What's wrong?"

"You always seem to come up with plans that end up putting you in danger. I just-I just don't like it."

"We live a dangerous lifestyle, John. It's to be expected with the kind of work that we do."

"I know." He laid down on the bed and gestured for me to join him. I curled up next to him, and we were quiet.

"So, what's my part in this plan?" he asked a short while later.

"You'll be posing as a bouncer. I'll have you positioned near the stage."

"Good. I want to stay as close to you as I can." We were quiet for a while longer before he suddenly asked, "Do you know how to pole dance?"

I chuckled. It was the sort of thing that fascinated John. "No," I replied, "but I have lessons lined up for this afternoon and tomorrow morning. We'll go undercover tomorrow night."

"How're you going to handle the police? I mean, they don't know you're female."

I sighed deeply, burying my face into John's side. "I'm going to tell Lestrade tonight." I could feel John's gaze on me.

"You sure?" he asked eventually.

"Yes. It's necessary."

"What about all that stuff you said about your career?"

"Hopefully I'm established well enough that it won't matter. I also think I should tell Mrs. Hudson."

"Probably. When's Lestrade going to be over?"

"I texted him. He'll be here around seven." I glanced at the clock; it was nearly time for me to leave. "I need to get ready to go."

"Okay, love. I'll be here when you get back."

* * *

Practice had been intense, but fortunately I had gotten down most of the basic moves. Tomorrow, I was going to work on my routine. I arrived back at the flat a little after six. I could smell risotto; John was cooking. Good thing too, as I was actually hungry. I shed my coat once inside the door so I was only wearing a sports bra and shorts. My shoes quickly followed, and I padded barefoot into the kitchen.

John glanced at me over his shoulder and smiled. "Sit down. I'll bring you some food."

I sat at the table checking my phone. I had a text. "Lestrade says he'll be here in twenty minutes."

"Aren't you going to get dressed?"

"I don't see why I should." John rolled his eyes at me. I continued, "Lestrade won't believe me when I tell him; he'll need proof. And anyway, this is a more efficient way of telling him."

John shook his head as he set a plate in front of me and sat down in his own seat. We ate silently, John reading a medical journal and I researching dance routines on my phone.

After a while, there was a knock on the door. I checked the kitchen clock. He was right on time. John stood up. "I'll get it, shall I? The man's going to need some kind of warning." I listened as John walked to the door and opened it.

"Hey, John," Lestrade greeted. "Sherlock texted me."

"Yeah. Listen, he has something to tell you. It's going to be kind of hard to believe, but it's all fine, okay?"

"Um, yeah. Fine," he said, his tone wary. "Don't know that there's much more he could do to surprise me."

"Don't be so sure about that," John muttered.

I stood as they walked into the kitchen. Lestrade did a double-take. His mouth gaped open as he stared at me. John sighed as he walked over to put the kettle on.

"Oh, stop staring," I reprimanded, using my normal tone.

"Bloody hell," he gasped.

"John," I said as I pushed Lestrade into a chair, "I think the detective inspector needs something a little stronger than tea." John nodded.

"There is no bloody way this is happening. I've got to be dream-"

"You are not dreaming," I said, cutting him off. "I am, in fact, female."

"How? I've known you for nearly ten years. How did I not see this. Unless you, um, uh, you know…recent. I mean, it's fine..."

"No, I am not transsexual. I was born female." I glanced at John. He was pouring what looked like whiskey into Lestrade's tea. He brought it over and set it in front of Lestrade before turning his attention to me.

"You should probably go put something on, Sherlock." I pouted at him before I went into the living room to put my dressing gown on.

"Is this why you're with him-her now?" I heard Lestrade ask.

"No. She's the one who initiated it. I would have been in a relationship with her even if she was a man. There's something special about her."

"Hmph. You're telling me."

"Better?" I asked John sarcastically as I re-entered the kitchen.

"Yes." I looked over at Lestrade. He seemed much calmer.

"You Holmses and your secrets," he muttered bitterly.

"Yes, well, we're not here to discuss our secrets. I have a plan for finding the serial killer."

"You thought of something?" he asked brightly.

"Yeah," John interrupted. "And I don't like it very much."

I ignored John and quickly laid out the plan for Lestrade.

"I don't know, Sherlock," he said hesitantly. "It's risky."

"Yes, but I'll have John there. And you'll be responding." I watched closely; he looked like he was going to say no. "Mycroft agrees," I added quickly.

He hesitated for another moment before he spoke. "Oh, okay. Just...be careful, okay. Mycroft would be upset if I let something happen to you."

I snorted. "Have you never seen Mycroft and I together? We're not exactly sentimental siblings."

"I'm not so sure about that," he said quietly. He stood up. "Anyway, I'll try to keep Donovan and Anderson away from this one, but no promises. Thanks for the tea, John." He stood up and grabbed his coat and walked out of the flat.

I grinned at John mischievously. "The game is on, my dear."


	15. Chapter 14: Preparing

A/N: So, bit of a bad week. Sorry if it's not as good as the previous chapters. But you would totally make my day if you left reviews ;)

Please enjoys!

* * *

I got back from practice around three. I left my coat on over my workout clothes because I didn't feel like changing yet. John was dozing in his chair. We had been up late going over the details of the plan. I had already arranged it with the manager of Dave's so that there would be no questions while we were undercover.

I went up into John's room and pulled out an appropriate outfit for him. I brought them back down to my room and laid them out on the bed for him. I then went through the clothes I had bought for myself and laid my outfit out next to John's before I exited the room.

The next thing to do was to inform Mrs. Hudson of my true sex. There was a chance that she would see my in my disguise, and I didn't want there to be any unpleasant surprises for her. I slipped out of the living room quietly, careful not to wake John. I hurried down the stairs, turned quickly at the bottom, and knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door. She opened it after a moment.

"Sherlock, dear, come in!" I followed her inside and sat down on her sofa. She brought me a cup of tea and sat down in a chair. "It's so nice of you to visit, dear," she said. "I've hardly seen you or John the last few days."

"Yes, John and I have been...occupied."

"I'd noticed." Her eyes gleamed.

I cleared my throat before I spoke. "Mrs. Hudson, I have something to tell you," I said firmly.

"Yes, dear? What is it?"

"I-I'm a woman," I blurted out. My apprehension surprised me. It was not normal. John was really starting to get to me. I took a sip of tea for something to do.

"Oh, I know that, dear."

"What!?" I exclaimed, burning my throat on the tea that I had swallowed hastily.

"Of course, dear."

"How?" I demanded, shedding the masculine tone in my voice.

"Ah, that's going to take some getting used to. And I've known all along."

"But how?"

"Oh, I have my ways. Don't worry dear," she said quickly in response to my alarmed expression. "I haven't told a soul. Your secret's safe with me."

"Why didn't you say anything before," I demanded.

"Oh, you didn't want anyone to know, and I didn't want to worry you."

I sat quietly for a moment before I stood up. "I need to go get John ready for a case. There's a chance that you may see me coming or going wearing lingerie. I just wanted to warn you."

"Of course, dear. Tell John I said congratulations."

Back upstairs, John was still asleep. He needed to wake up and get ready. I climbed into his lap so that I was straddling him. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. Groggily, he responded. After a few moments, in which the kiss had become much more fervent, I pulled away.

He smiled. "I like being woken up like that. Much better than the time the piglet was running through the flat."

"I know." I kissed him again. "Mrs. Hudson said congratulations."

"Oh, she was up here?"

"No, I went down to tell her. She already knew."

"What? How?"

"She wouldn't tell me!" I pouted. He ran his thumb across my lower lip before stroking my jaw.

"Don't worry about it. She's always been really intuitive."

I leaned down and kissed him again, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. He responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around my waist. I gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him against me. John slipped his fingers under the waistband of my trousers. They were warm, and felt delectable. I didn't want him to stop, but we were on a schedule. I sighed as I reached around and grabbed his wrists.

"No time right now," I said, panting softly. He groaned and buried his face against my chest. His breath was hot, and it was seeping through the cotton fabric of my sports bra. I shivered. "That's not helping."

He looked up at me. "Sorry," he grinned apologetically.

"We have to be there by six. Your clothes are laid out on the bed. Wear that and nothing else; you'll be less noticeable that way. And be quick in the bathroom. It's going to take me a while to get ready." I stood up and grabbed his hands, pulling him up after me. He kissed me again before he turned and walked into the bathroom.

* * *

John had showered and dressed quickly. As soon as he had left the bathroom, I went in with my outfit and locked the door. Between showering and applying my makeup, it took me more than an hour to prepare.

I glanced in the mirror, pulling the strap up onto my shoulder. I was ready to go. My bra and panties were black with dark blue lace trim. My heels were short to accommodate my height. I checked my hair and makeup one last time; it was adequate.

I unlocked the bathroom door and paused. John had never seen me in such feminine attire. I was slightly nervous. I braced myself and pushed the door open before walking into the living room. John looked up from his laptop at the clicking noise my heels made. His jaw dropped so that his mouth was hanging open. I waited a moment before I spoke. "Speechless?" I asked.

His jaw snapped shut. He stood up and strode across the room, his stride predatory. He stopped right in front of me looking at me hungrily. "You look amazing," he said, his voice husky.

I cleared my throat as I pulled my hand away and walked over to the coat hook. The heat between us was intense, and if I didn't break it off immediately, we'd never leave the flat. "Come on, John. We're running late," I said briskly, slipping my coat on. He sighed as he put his coat on and followed me from the flat.


	16. Chapter 15: Just In Case

A/N: Hey, all. So sorry my updating's been slow. School is, you guessed it, crazy-busy. We've got angsty John and angsty Sherlock. Don't you just love it? Ooo, and I left you a nice cliffy. So sorry for any typos; like I said, busy. I updated this between classes.

Please review! It makes me happy when you do. And don't you want to share the gift of happiness?

* * *

Dave's was a seedy looking club that had a dingy, neglected look about it. I looked around the street, checking for all the exits and alleys near the club. The back door exited into an alley that had parked cars at the end. To the left of the main entrance, the street curved into a cul de sac. To the right, there was the alley, and then a line of closed shops that led out to the main road. John and I went around to the back door and entered. We met the manager just inside the door.

"John, this is the manager, Tim. I got him off an assault case about a year before I met you. He has been informed, obviously, of the pertinent information regarding this case."

John shook his hand. "Nice to meet you," Tim said cheerfully.

John nodded his head in greeting. I noticed his posture; it was tense. I sighed as I led him to the main part of the club. "I'm just going to show John around," I called to Tim over my shoulder.

Once we were out of sight, I ran my hands down John's arms. "Relax," I said. "It's not like someone's going to scoop me up and run off with me." John scowled. "John," I sighed. He was making this difficult. "There will be clear signs if someone is going to try to abduct me. Just stay vigilant. And try not to look so...forbidding."

"I'm just worried, Sherlock. What if someone slips past me? What if I can't stop him?"

"John!" I interrupted, agitated. "I'll be fine."

"It's just-it's different when you're a woman. People are less likely to fuck with you when you're a man!"

"It's still me, John. I can handle myself. You know that!"

He sighed and sank down into a chair. "I know, Sherlock. The stakes are higher for me now. I have more to lose."

"Yes, but you've lost me before. Things were unresolved then. This time we know how the other feels." I knelt in front of him. "It'll be fine. But, just in case, I love you. You're the only person I've ever loved."

John grabbed my hands and gripped them tightly. He didn't say anything. I sat quietly, savoring the moment. After a while, John stood and pulled me up with him. "I love you too. Come on. You need to be in the back."

* * *

I had sent John to keep an eye on the main part of the club. I was waiting in the back, watching the other dancers file in. I had adopted a friendly, brainless manner so that I didn't scare them off. I glanced at the clock; it was getting close to time to start. Another dancer entered just then. She had long, blonde hair and an orangey glow that suggested a spray tan.

"Who's that?" she asked, her tone confrontational.

"Hi, I'm Jen!" I said brightly, extending my hand to shake hers. She eyed me for a moment before walking away, leaving my hand hanging unshaken.

"What did I do?" I asked one of the other dancers who had long, black hair.

"Oh, don't worry about her," she replied. "She's always like that. Come on, we should probably warm up."

I followed her over to an open space, and we began to stretch. I watched everyone closely, looking for anything suspicious. Most of the dancers seemed fairly innocent, beside the occasional drug user. The hostile blonde, on the other hand, seemed somewhat suspicious. I moved on to look at the room. There were boxes stacked everywhere, obstructing my view of the corners. The fire door was disabled, and the back door's lock was broken. It was a security nightmare.

After we finished warming up, I retrieved my phone and texted my findings to Lestrade. He texted me back with another inane warning. He was getting to be more annoying now that he was with Mycroft. I sighed as I texted John.

**Anything suspicious? -SH**

**Nothing yet. -JW**

**Keep vigilant. -SH**

**Of course. Anything back there? -JW**

**Neither door is secure. Also, blonde dancer is inexplicably hostile. -SH**

**Be careful. -JW**

**Of course I will be. When am I not? -SH**

**Sherlock… -JW**

**Okay, fine. I will be careful. -SH**

**And don't forget, I'm Jen tonight. -SH**

**Yes, Jen. -JW**

I scowled as I put my phone back in my coat pocket.

"Problem?" asked the dancer that I had warmed up with.

"Oh, it's nothing. My boyfriend's just being overly-protective. I don't get it," I whined.

"Well, at least you know he cares about you."

"Yeah."

"I'm Beth, by the way."

"Jen."

She glanced at a sheet of paper in front of her. "It's almost showtime. You're on right after me."

We went to the side of the stage, and Beth went on when the music started playing. I stayed off to the side so I could see the club. John was standing with his back to the stage. I saw him turn his head slightly so that I was in his peripheral vision. We had agreed ahead of time that we would pretend that we didn't know each other. John turned his head again and looked pointedly at a blonde man at the bar.

The man had medium-length blonde hair that was close to the shade of the hair that I had found at the crime scene. The man's physique also matched, even though it was somewhat difficult to tell from the baggy t-shirt and jeans that he was wearing. He motioned to the bartender for a drink. I was about to signal to John to keep an eye on him when I was shoved roughly. I stumbled, but I was able to keep myself from falling be reaching for the wall. I turned to see the blonde dancer glaring at me.

"Stop staring at my boyfriend."

"What?" I asked innocently. This was an interesting development.

"I saw you! You'd better leave him alone." She pushed me again and walked away. I looked over at John; his back was turned toward the stage. Good, he had missed the exchange.

The song was reaching its end, and Beth performed her finale. She collected the cash that was thrown onto the stage as I prepared to enter. Beth grinned at me as she walked by. "Good luck," she whispered.

The music started, and I danced onstage to the beat. The lights made it difficult, but I was able to look out over the club. I began to swing on the pole, cataloging the people in the club. There were a few people who seemed suspicious, one at a table in the back, one sitting near the stage, and the blonde at the bar. The blonde seemed to be watching me, but it was difficult to tell because John was standing in the way.

I continued my routine, and a couple of people began to whistle and cheer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John flinch. This was making him incredibly uncomfortable. By this point, there was a lot of whooping from a group of men off to the side, occasionally throwing out a rude remark about my appearance. I ignored them, but I noticed John's fists were clenched. It was difficult for me to deduce much else at this point because I was hanging upside down from the pole.

I finished my routine and collected the cash strewn across the stage. I looked at John covertly; he was shaking. I exited after I had finished collecting the money and went straight to my coat. I put the cash in the hidden pocket and pulled out my phone. I had just turned to sit down and text John when I caught sight of him. He gestured toward the back door before going out of it. I waited a moment, then followed him. John was hunched in a corner, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. I walked toward him, stopping about a foot away from him.

"I didn't like that," he said quietly.

"I know. But it doesn't mean anything."

"You don't deserve that!" He realized that he was nearly shouting. He adjusted his tone. "You are worth so much more than that."

I closed the space between us and put my hand over his, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. His pulse was racing, and he was shaking. "John," I said annoyed, "it's not like I'm doing this for a living."

"Yeah, well you're still pretty good at it. I saw all that money you got."

"So? Do you think I'm going to pick it up full-time? It's just for a case."

"I know," he replied quietly. He turned his hand in mine and squeezed it. "I've got to get back." He pulled his hand out of mine and went back inside.

* * *

The rest of the night was fairly quiet. I watched the club for any other suspicious characters, but I didn't see any. After the show, I held back, waiting for everyone else to leave. I left alone, John watching from the shadows, but no one approached me. John was quiet all the way home, and I mirrored his silence. I was getting excited. I could sense that we were getting close to solving this case. The blonde at the bar had potential.

Back at the flat, John went straight to bed. I was tempted to join him, but I still had too much to do. I went into the bathroom first to take a shower. Standing under the hot stream of water, I went over reviewed the data. The killer would have a gun, so I'd definitely have to be prepared for that. My mind wandered to John. He had been extremely upset over the whole thing, but he was ready to call the whole thing off because of the gun. Of course, he was being overly-protective. I had always managed to take care of myself. But what if our situation was reversed, and John was the one putting himself in danger? My stomach clenched painfully at the thought. And what if my plan went wrong and something happened to me?

Of course my affairs were in order. In fact, all of my possessions were technically still John's. I had never bothered reclaiming them when I'd "come back to life." Things were just more convenient this way. But I thought of last time, when the only personal thing that I'd left John was that phone call. There was nothing of me left for him. I needed to make sure that there was something more for him this time.

I turned off the tap and dried myself. I slipped my dressing gown on and went into the living room to write a letter for John.


	17. 16: The Trouble With Making Assuptions

A/N: We're at the climax! (Hehehe, I just used the word climax!) Enjoy!

* * *

The next evening, John and I arrived at the club a few minutes before six. John went straight to the front of the club while I stayed in the back. We had hardly spoken all day. He had spent the day on his laptop, and I spent it sprawled on the sofa thinking. I didn't like it, but I had to remove myself from John's sentimentality to be able to solve this case.

Beth came in after a while, and we talked about some tedious topic that I deleted as soon as we were finished. I remained watchful as the other dancers entered. There was nothing of significance. The only dancer who was missing was the blonde. When Beth and I went to warm up, I asked, "Um, where's that blonde that didn't like me?"

"Oh, they're training her to be a bartender. She's up front."

"I guess that's good for us. I mean since, you know, she won't be back here with us."

"We'll see," she replied darkly. I needed to make sure I kept an eye on her then; the other dancers definitely didn't trust her.

We finished warming up and went over to the side of the stage. I looked out over the club. The blonde man was back at the bar. I glanced at John; he had noticed him as well. The blonde dancer poured a drink and pushed it across the bar to him. She looked nervous; she was giving him free drinks. I shifted my gaze to the rest of the club. It looked fairly benign. The man at the bar seemed to be the biggest threat.

The music came on, and Beth went on. I took some time to watch John. He looked tired, haggard even. The stress of the whole situation was getting to him. The lines around his eyes had deepened, and he was perpetually frowning. I had never seen a case affect him like this. He was usually very calm and composed. It was unsettling to watch.

Beth finished her set, and I went on. John went over to the bar and leaned in to whisper into Tim's ear. Tim nodded, and John went backstage and out the door. I frowned; John was supposed to watch the club while I was performing.

I was up to the point in my routine where I was hanging upside down from the pole when the blonde man stood up at the bar and shook his head dismissively to the blonde dancer before walking out the front door. I hurried through my routine. I needed to John what was happening. I gathered the cash quickly and rushed offstage. I was angry; he was supposed to have stayed in the club and seen it himself.

I went straight to my coat and shoved the cash into the pocket and pulling my phone out at the same time. There was a text from John. I opened it.

**The Doctor -JW**

I panicked; that was our emergency text. I rushed out the back door and scanned the alley; John wasn't there. I looked at the ground. There were marks from a fight. I dialed Lestrade. I ran toward the end of the alley while the phone rang.

"Hello?" Lestrade's voice was tired but not sleepy; he was on duty. Things would move more quickly.

"John's been taken."

"What!"

"There are signs of a fight. Get here quickly. He took him in a car."

I hung up and paced up and down the alley, recreating the scene in my head, but, after a few moments, my vision began to blur. I reached up to rub my eyes. My face was wet; I was crying. I wiped the tears away furiously. Crying wasn't going to help anything.

I was just turning to walk to the back of the alley when I caught a glimpse of something white. I bent down and picked it up. It was a business card for a dance studio off of Waterloo Rd. Something about it seemed wrong, but just then a police car flew around the corner, screeching to a halt right next to me. I jumped in the back seat.

"Waterloo Road," I called. Lestrade pulled away from the kerb and accelerated quickly, his attention completely on the road. It was then that I noticed Donovan sitting in the passenger seat, her mouth gaping and a look of disbelief on her face. It would have been amusing if I the situation was different.

Ignoring her, I began to rattle off information. "Suspect is six foot, has medium length blonde hair, wearing a graphic t-shirt, a leather coat, and dark jeans. Car was small, probably a 2-door model. I found a business card at the scene with the address. You should probably turn the sirens off soon. We don't want him to panic."

Lestrade switched off the sirens and pulled into an alley that was around the corner from the studio. By this time, Donovan had mostly composed herself, aside from looking at me in the mirror occasionally and staring disbelievingly at my breasts.

"Okay," Lestrade said, turning to face Donovan and I. "This is what we're going to do. Donovan, you cover the front. Sherlock, you are going to _follow me_ around the back. We'll probably have to force the back door."

Donovan nodded and got out of the car. We watched her go around the corner to take her place before we got out of the car. Lestrade turned suddenly and grabbed my wrist.

"Don't go in there all half-cocked. You won't help him by getting yourself hurt." I nodded jerkily, my mouth set in a grim line. I didn't need him hassling me. I would do anything to make sure John got out safely, but I knew that Lestrade would react badly if I said so.

Lestrade and I went around the corner to take our places. I was beginning to shiver; I had forgotten my coat at the club. I ignored it. All my focus was on getting John out. All the years of ignoring my body's needs were paying off yet again. We slipped around to the back of the studio. There was a silver 2-door car parked there with drag marks from the car to the back door. I looked at the back of the building. The back door was locked securely, but there was an open window next to it. I gestured to Lestrade then the window. He nodded, and we both moved to crouch underneath it. Once we were in place, it was a few moments before we heard anything.

"So," an unfamiliar voice said, "do you know why you're here?" The voice was muted, as if it was coming from around a corner. We'd potentially have to deal with multiple rooms then.

"No idea," John groaned.

"I recognized you. Knew you worked with that Sherlock Holmes."

"And?" John asked. His voice sounded much stronger this time. He must has just woken from being unconscious.

"And I wanna know where he is. I've seen you hanging around, but not him. If the rumors have it right, he's never far from you; you're like his...pet."

"Well, they're wrong. I'm not his pet. And how should I know where he is. I'm not his keeper either. He can do whatever he wants."

"Oh, don't give me that shit. You were undercover. That means he's on one of his cases. Let me guess, the case of the dead pole dancers?" John was silent. "Where is he?"

"No idea," John said, his voice sounding a little choked, as if something was obstructing his airway. I began to stand up, but Lestrade pulled me back down. He gave me a sharp look and mouthed "soon" to me.

"So, this is what's going to happen. You're going to sit there and tell me what I want to know. If you don't cooperate, I'll have to force you to. And, if my timing's right, Holmes should be here just in time to find your body."

"What makes you think he's going to be able to find me?"

"I left him a clue. I didn't see him anywhere around the club, so I should have plenty of time before he gets here."

"Why should I cooperate? I mean, if you're just going to kill me anyway?"

There was a sound of flesh slapping against flesh and a groan. Lestrade tightened his grip on my wrist to keep me from rushing in.

"Because," the voice said dangerously, "if you don't, I'll make it unbearable."

"I was a soldier. It would take a lot." The bravado in his voice was enough to convince anyone but me. I heard the undertone of fear. I looked at Lestrade and pleaded silently.

"Let's get started then," the voice said.

Lestrade nodded sharply. He climbed through the window quietly, and I followed closely behind him. We were in a small room with an open door off to the right. We stood just outside the room and continued to listened. Lestrade pulled out a service gun and quietly turned the safety off.

I peeked my head around the corner so I could see what was happening inside the room. The blonde man's back was to the door, and he was standing over John who was tied securely to a chair. The man had a knife in his hand and a handgun tucked into the back of his jeans. He pressed the knife against John's cheek.

"I'll start here," he said, slowly dragging the blade across John's cheekbone. Beads of blood bloomed along the cut. I clenched my fists. The proximity of the knife to John was the only thing that kept me from storming in and stopping the man.

"You know, I really hate exotic dancers. Pole dancer especially. They take so much from the art of dance. They think it's just some sort of cheap entertainment for horny bastards. They don't understand the artwork...the craft involved."

John didn't say anything. He just stared ahead stoically. Lestrade gestured to them; we were to move while they were distracted. We crept quietly across the room until we were standing just behind the man. John spotted me, his mask slipping for just a moment.

"What are you smiling abou-" Lestrade cut him off by grabbing his wrist so he couldn't use the knife. At the same time, I pulled the gun from his waistband and pointed it at him, turning the safety off with a quick movement.

"Drop the knife," I said in a deadly voice. He glared at me and continued to try to pull free from Lestrade. Lestrade squeezed a pressure point, and the man dropped the knife. He and Lestrade continued to grapple for a moment before Lestrade subdued him and put him in handcuffs. Donovan came in the door just then, and she and Lestrade dragged the man out the door. I ran over to John and untied him.

"Are you okay?" I asked frantically. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Sherlock." John pulled his hand free and pressed it to the cut on his cheek. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent. John's free hand moved up to stroke my hair.

"It's okay, Sherlock." He moved his arm down and wrapped it around me. "Jesus, you're freezing!"

"I'm fine," I said dismissing his concern. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, it's fine." Just then, I heard the door open and footsteps that stopped about halfway across the room.

"Who's that, Watson," Anderson asked. "I thought you were shagging the Freak."

I raised my face to look at John, a mischievous smile splashed across my face. John grinned and nodded. I stood and turned to face Anderson.

"As ever, Anderson," I said to his confused face, "your insults are obvious, tedious, and dull."

As he realised who I was, a look of horror spread across his face. He backed away from me and tripped over a broom that was lying on the floor. He fell backwards and hit his head on the corner of the door. He lay on the floor, not moving.

John sighed and stood up. "I'd better make sure he's only unconscious." He crossed the room and knelt next to Anderson. Just then Lestrade and Donovan re-entered the room.

"What happened?" Donovan shrieked. Lestrade rolled his eyes and crossed the room to answer his phone.

"He tripped," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. "He'll be fine." I looked over to Lestrade. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he spoke. He paused to let the other person reply. His face relaxed into a sappy expression. He spoke again and then ended the call.

"What did Mycroft say?" I asked him.

"How did you-oh, nevermind."

"Well?"

"He said for you to take John home, and he'd take care of things here."

"Come on, John!" I called. I was cold, and I wanted John safe and at home where I could keep an eye on him.

"Just a minute, Sherlock. Greg, he's just unconscious. He'll have a concussion, but he'll be fine."

"That's fine, John. Just go home." I pulled John's arm, leading him to the street where we got a taxi back to 221B.

* * *

A/N: Please tell me what you thought. I'd like to know what you were expecting and how that compared to what actually happened. On a sad note, just a couple of chapters left! We're almost to the end of this chapter of John and Sherlock's life in my universe. I hope you've enjoyed so far!


	18. Chapter 17: Home

A/N: Okay, here's a short, fluffy one. There's going to be one more chapter and an epilogue. We're almost to the end!

* * *

John and I climbed the stairs to our flat. "Kitchen," I said as soon as we were through the door. John obeyed silently, sitting at the table. I retrieved the medical kit from the cabinet and laid it out on the table before crossing to the sink. I washed my hand and wet a flannel. I turned and walked back to the table, standing in front of John.

"Sherlock," John said, "it's okay. I can do it myself."

"Shut up, John." He did, and I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and laid out the supplies. I cupped John's jaw with my hand, stroking it tenderly with my thumb. With the other hand, I gently washed the blood off of his cheek and jaw with the flannel. I put the flannel down and swabbed the cut with iodine. John hissed in pain but remained still. I finished off by putting a dressing on the cut and kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Better?" I asked stripping off the gloves. He nodded. "I'm going to take a shower. Are you going to join me?"

"I'd love to," he said. John and I both went into the bathroom. We both stripped and stepped into the shower.

"Wet your hair," I said, reaching around him to grab his soap. He dunked his head under the spray for a moment then removed it. I poured a dollop of his soap on my palm and lathered it into his hair. He was finally relaxing, the tension melting from his shoulders. "Rinse," I said. He did so.

"Switch places with me," he said, pushing his way to the back of the shower. I switched places with him, stepping under the hot, pouring water. I was shivering fiercely, the extended period outside finally catching up with me. John grabbed my shampoo, poured some into his palm, and began washing my hair. I melted against him as his fingers massaged my scalp, completely pliable. John had been thrilled when he had discovered this reaction. He pushed on my shoulder lightly, signaling for me to rinse. I did so, then poured more of John's soap onto my palms and carefully washed John's body. He hissed every time my hands passes over a scrape or scratch.

"You're going to be covered in bruises. What did he do to you.?" I bit my tongue, holding back the anger.

"He caught me by surprise. He got one good punch in, and he managed to knock me out. Fortunately, I was able to send the text before he did."

"Why did you leave the club?" I asked, barely managing to hide the offended tone in my voice.

"I didn't want to watch all those men ogling you. I wouldn't have been able to stop myself if I had stayed."

"Hmph! Really, John. You're a soldier. I think you'd be able to control yourself."

"If you say so," John said darkly. I dropped the subject; we'd talk about it again later. I quickly washed my body and rinsed and turned the water off. John and I stepped out of the shower and dried off. We went through to the bedroom and put on our pyjamas. We lay down on bed, John wrapping himself around me.

"I'm glad you're safe," I said quietly, hating the vulnerable tone in my voice. I cleared my throat and fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Me too," John said, tightening his arms around me. "I'm even more glad that you're safe though."

I snorted. "Sentiment, John?"

"Of course."

"Well, in that case, I love you."

"I love you too, Sherlock." I sighed, enjoying the sensation of John lying next to me. It felt like it had been ages since we'd last been together like this, even though it had only been a few days.

I spoke again after a few minutes. "You should move in with me."

"What do you mean? We already live together."

"No, I mean in this room." John was silent, so I continued. "I think you should move your things in here. It's more logical than me moving my things into your room. I have the more comfortable bed and my room is warmer. Also, there's more space, and-"

John cut me off by kissing me. After a moment, he pulled away. "Yes," he said.

"Good." John yawned widely. "You're tired," I said. "Go to sleep."

"You'll stay here?"

"Of course." I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face in his shoulder.

"Thank you, love," he murmured as he drifted off to sleep.


	19. Chapter 18: Joyful

A/N: Okay, this is the last chapter. There will be an epilogue coming up in the next few days, but this is the end of the story. I posted two chapters today, so make sure you've read the previous chapter first.

I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorite, and followed this story. It means so much to me. This story has been a great pleasure for me to write, and hopefully I'll eventually be able to write a prequel. I love you guys. You're awesome!

Love,

allonsysherlocklove

* * *

John and I woke late the next morning. I had drifted off at some point in the night. I spent the time until then watching John sleep. Fear kept gripping me, leaving an uncomfortable feeling in my gut, every time I thought about how easily I could have lost John. I hated the vulnerability, but I'd rather have that than go back to living without John.

John and I were snogging lazily in bed when there was a knock at the door. I pulled my lips away from John's and groaned. "Maybe it'll go away if we ignore it," John said.

I listened carefully for a moment. "It's Lestrade and Mycroft."

"No chance then." I heard the front door open and Mycroft cross the flat and pause outside our door. He tapped on the door with his umbrella. "Sherlock? Dr. Watson?"

"Go away," I called petulantly.

"Come now, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "Greg has some questions for you, and I need to inform you on some aspects of the case."

I glared toward the door, and John laughed at me. He pushed me playfully. "Come on," he said. "The sooner we go, the sooner they'll leave."

I jumped out of bed and slipped my dressing gown on. John put his on as well. I looked at him hungrily for just a moment before I stormed out the door and flung myself in John's chair because Mycroft was sitting in mine. Lestrade was sitting on the sofa. I noticed the red marks around their lips.

"Enjoying a good snog?" I asked waspishly. Lestrade's cheeks turned bright red, but Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow at me.

"Yes. I can see you were as well."

"Which you rudely interrupted." I caught John rolling his eyes at Lestrade. Lestrade responded with a nod and a silent sigh. I looked back at Mycroft. He had seen the exchange as well. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes, and I smiled slightly.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" I asked sharply, returning to my previous manner.

"The detective inspector has some questions that he needs to ask you. As I also needed to speak to you, I decided to join him."

I turned to Lestrade "Get on with it then! John and I were busy."

Lestrade cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke. "So, um, I just had a couple of questions for now. First, how did you know that John had been taken?"

"Obvious. He dropped a business card to lure me to the studio. He had not planned for me to be there until he had left. He thought that I wasn't at the club, so he decided to target John."

"Okay," Lestrade said jotting down some notes. "Do you know his motive?"

"He targeted pole dancers because he thought they were an insult to dancing. He is a serial killer, but a very poor one. He acted rashly when he took John. The robbery, however, is much more interesting. He robbed from them because he felt that they robbed from the craft of dance. You heard him, Lestrade. Neat." John sighed, shaking his head. I stuck my tongue out at him, ignoring Mycroft's eyeroll.

"Okay," Lestrade said, flipping his notebook shut. "I'll need a written statement from the two of you sometime in the next couple of days."

"Sure," John said. I rolled my eyes.

"Now," Mycroft said. "I have two issues to address. First, is your coat. I have it here with me." He handed it over to me; I draped it over the arm of the couch. "Second, is the matter of Detective Sergeants Anderson and Donovan. They have been informed that things would be...easier if they remembered to keep your sex a secret. I think that this is for the best. We don't need them throwing that information around." I nodded, refusing to say anything.

"Thank you," John said. I glared at Mycroft, silently willing him to go away. I wanted to go back to bed with John.

"Greg, I think it's time we left. My sister is getting frustrated." He stood, grasping his umbrella. He and Lestrade walked out the door. I listened to them walk down the stairs before pouncing on John, attacking his mouth with my own. "Let's go to bed, my dear Watson." He grinned at me and pulled me into the bedroom, slamming the door behind us.

* * *

THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOOO MUCH!


	20. Epilogue: Unexpected

A/N: Okay, I couldn't help myself. I had to finish this up. Make sure you read chapters 17 and 18 before you read this! Enjoy!

* * *

"I still don't know how you convinced me to marry you!" I shouted. I had been anxious all day, which, of course, made the problem even worse. I hadn't a case in two weeks, and John was driving me up the wall with his useless platitudes about how something would come along soon.

I flung myself on the sofa and glared at John. He let out a long-suffering sigh before he went back to his blog. I picked up a stack of paper from the table and began crumpling them into balls. John watched me suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, after my stack of balls had grown rather large, he turned his attention back to his laptop. I picked up one of the balls and flung it at his head. It hit the tip of his nose and bounced off.

John looked at me and raised his eyebrow in a very 'I am not amused' way before turning back to his blog again. I continued to throw paper balls at him until he finally put his laptop down. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Bored," I said petulantly. "And not feeling well. Probably your fault."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

I arched an eyebrow. "What do you think?" I asked in a seductive tone.

"Oh no! Not after insult me and then pelt me with paper."

I crossed the room and put on my best begging face. "Please," I whined.

John watched me for a moment before his posture relaxed. "Oh fine," he said, pulling me into his lap.

* * *

A while later, after our clothes were replaced, John went into the kitchen to cook. I followed him and rested on the edge of the table; watching John cook had become one of my favorite pastimes.

"Indian sound good?" he asked, pulling a pan out.

"You know I don't care."

John grunted and bustled around the kitchen, pulling out various ingredients as he went.

"Harry called today," he said eventually.

"Oh?" I asked noncommittally. It was always hard to tell if her phone calls were good or bad.

"Yeah. She said that she's been clean for a month."

"You don't know whether to believe her," I stated.

"Nope. I want it to be true, but you know how it is."

I walked up behind John and wrapped my arms around his middle.

"Thanks, love," he said. He took the chicken off the plate and put it into the sizzling pan. The scent wafted up to my nostrils, and my stomach lurched at the smell. I untangled myself from John, willing myself not to vomit on him. He wouldn't forgive for that for at least a week. I bent over the bin and vomited, the bile leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Sherlock?" John asked sounding alarmed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just turn that pan off."

John took the pan off the heat then turned back to me. There was a puzzled look on his face. He stared at me, a frown firmly in place.

"What?" I asked sullenly.

"I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with you," he said, his frown deepening. "You haven't shown any sign of the stomach flu, and the-oh!"

"What?"

"When was your last period?"

"Two months ago," I replied, confused by the sudden subject change. I was really not feeling well. "You know they've always been irregular."

"Sherlock," John said, pausing for a moment. "Sherlock, I think you might be pregnant."

"Preg-what?" I asked. I felt my jaw drop. I couldn't be pregnant, could I? I retreated to my mind palace, calculating the likelihood that I could be pregnant.

I was vaguely aware of someone leading me toward the sofa and pushing me down into a sitting positions. Apparently, there was about a 25% chance that I could be pregnant, based on the timing of my menstrual cycle, the frequency that John and I had sex, and my age. I cross-referenced this with the symptoms that I had been experiencing. The most like option that explained everything was that I was pregnant.

I pulled myself from my mind palace, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that _I was pregnant_.

"Have you ever seen her like this?" John asked, his tone slightly panicked.

"No, never," Mycroft replied, puzzled.

I blinked twice and looked around the room. John was pacing nervously back and forth across the flat. Mycroft was standing over my protectively, and Lestrade was sitting John's chair.

"Sherlock?" John said, rushing over to me and placing his hand on my shoulders. "Are you okay?"

I swallowed nervously and said, "I'm pregnant."


End file.
